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Library  of  Dr.  A.  A .  Hodge.  Presented. 


AC  8  • V36  1856  gQ1 

Van  Santvoord ,  C.  1816  19j1 
Discourses  on  special 
occasions,  and 


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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2019  with  funding  from 
Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


https://archive.org/details/discoursesonspecOOvans 


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Mr. 


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ON  SPECIAL  OCCASIONS 


AND 


BY 


C.  VAN  SANTVOORD. 


NEW  YORK: 

M.  W.  DODD,  PUBLISHER, 

59  CHAMBERS  STREET. 

1  856. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1856,  by 

M.  W.  DODD, 

In  the  Clerk’s  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District  of 

New  York. 


STEREOTYPED  BY  R-  CRAIGHEAD, 

Thomas  B.  Smith,  printer, 

82  &  84  Beekman  Street.  &&  Vesey  St.,  N.  Y. 


PREFACE. 


JoriN  Foster,  in  one  of  his  conversations,  remarks,  that  an  author 
will  sometimes  plead  haste  in  preparing  and  putting  forth  a  book,  as 
if  there  were  a  famine  of  books,  and  awkward  defects  were  to  be 
overlooked  on  the  score  of  benevolent  zeal  to  satisfy  the  pressing  de¬ 
mands  of  the  public.  No  plea  of  this  sort  will  be  set  up  on  behalf  of 
the  present  unpretending  volume,  the  author  feeling  pretty  conscious, 
that  did  such  famine  really  exist — as  it  never  has  existed  since  the 
time  of  Solomon — there  is  little  in  this  book  to  appease  its  gnawings. 
The  discourses  were  given  in  the  ordinary  course  of  a  ministry  to  the 
Reformed  Dutch  Church  of  Saugerties,  New  York,  and  between  the 
years  1848  and  1854.  The  miscellaneous  papers,  with  one  exception, 
were  contributed  to  various  periodicals  during  the  same  interval. 
Several  of  the  discourses  have  been  given  to  the  press  separately,  and 
the  present  purpose  is  little  more  than  to  put  in  a  tangible  and  fixed 
form  what  has  hitherto  existed  in  a  fugitive  one.  If  the  reader  re¬ 
mark  the  seeming  incongruity  of  placing  moral  and  critical  essays,  and 
discourses  such  as  those  on  Adams,  Clay,  and  Webster,  side  by  side 
with  those  which  are  strictly  religious,  it  is  proper  to  observe,  that 
the  volume  being  miscellaneous  in  its  character,  the  author  is  not 
“  shut  up”  to  the  treatment  of  a  specific  class  of  subjects,  while  his 
own  taste  and  judgment  are  alone  responsible  for  the  selections 
made.  In  those  discourses  on  the  illustrious  men  mentioned,  whose 
names  and  services  are  historic,  the  design  has  been  to  illustrate 


IV 


PREFACE. 


by  striking  and  memorable  examples,  tlie  patriotic  virtues,  the 
earnest  life-long  devotion  to  the  interests  of  our  noble  country 
and  her  benign  institutions,  and  from  the  survey  of  these  ex- 
emples,  to  draw  out  Avhatever  wholesome  lessons  they  may  be 
found  fit  to  furnish.  The  author  has  only  to  add,  that  he  shall 
feel  no  disappointment  if  the  reading  of  this  volume  is  confined  to 
the  not  very  wide  circle  of  those  who  know  him  personally,  or  at 
least  to  the  denomination  within  which  his  lot  is  cast.  Should  its 
circulation,  however,  chance  to  stray  beyond  this  narrow  boundary, 
he  is  happy  to  believe  that  the  subjects  treated  in  the  volume  are 
sufficiently  varied  and  important  to  afford  somewhat  of  interest  and 
— it  may  be — of  profit  to  any  into  whose  hands  it  may  fall. 


Greenwich ,  New  York ,  June ,  1S56. 


CONTENTS. 


I*  Discourse  on  John  Quincy  Adams  . 

Page 

7 

II.  Worth  of  the  Scriptures 

.  45 

III.  Hall  and  Chalmers  .... 

.  83 

IV.  Refuge  from  the  Pestilence 

.  123 

V.  Intemperance  and  War  . 

.  144 

VI.  The  Foundation  of  the  Church 

.  16G 

VII.  English  Diction  .... 

.  197 

VIII.  Discourse  on  Henry  Clay 

.  209 

XX.  “  “  Daniel  Webster  . 

.  244 

X.  Appendix  to  Webster 

.  303 

XI.  Samuel  Johnson  and  Daniel  Webster 

.  314 

XII.  Charles  Dickens  and  his  Philosophy 

.  334 

Xm.  Uncle  Tom’s  Cabin  and  Colonization 

.  360 

XIV.  Pitcairn’s  Islanders 

.  873 

XV.  Cannon’s  Pastoral  Theology  . 

.  389 

XVI.  Loss  of  the  Arctic  .  .  • 

.  418 

XVII.  Rev.  Dr.  Brodhead  .  •  . 

.  440 

THE  PRICELESS  WORTH  OF  A  GOOD  NAME. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS. 


Divitiarum  et  formro  gloria  fluxa  atque  fragilis;  yirtus  clara  seternaque 
habetur. — Sallust. 


“  A  good  name  is  rather  to  he  chosen  than  great  riches.” 

Prov.  xxii.  I. 

The  “Ingratitude  of  Republics”  has  long  furnished 
to  those  given  rather  to  declamation  than  to  reason¬ 
ing,  a  favorite  and  fertile  theme.  The  phrase  belongs 
to  that  useful  class  of  topics,  not  only  ready  at  the 
call  of  the  humblest,  but  seeming  to  contain  a  sono¬ 
rous  truism,  which,  urged  as  an  argument,  bears  a 
force  not  easy  to  parry. 

The  truth  of  the  saying,  almost  a  proverbial  one, 
has  been  rather  taken  for  granted,  than  scrutinized 
with  the  view  of  detecting  any  fallacy  that  might 
underlie  the  proposition,  or  of  determining  whether 
from  too  few  facts  and  examples,  too  broad  and 
sweeping  a  conclusion  had  not  been  drawn.  A 
Republic,  it  is  averred,  based  upon  the  principle 


8 


THE  PRICELESS  WORTH  OF  A  GOOD  NAME. 


that  the  popular  voice  is  the  sovereign  will,  is  prone, 
from  its  very  nature,  to  he  fickle  and  capricious.  It 
is  liable  to  lift  a  man  to  the  summit  of  favor  one  day, 
the  impulsive  populace  rendering  him,  there,  a  blind 
homage,  like  that  offered  to  Paul  and  Barnabas  by 
the  crowd  insanely  shouting  “the  gods  are  come 
down  to  us  in  the  likeness  of  men,” — and  on  the 
next,  dethroning  him  from  his  high  and  precarious 
seat,  amid  a  storm  of  clamor  and  invective,  in  order 
to  exalt  and  pay  the  like  honors  to  some  fresh  candi¬ 
date  for  their  hollow  applauses.  Talent,  however 
commanding  and  unquestionable — public  services, 
however  distinguished  and  important — virtue,  how¬ 
ever  pure — integrity,  however  unsullied,  with  long 
laborious  years,  devoted  without  grudging  and  com¬ 
plaint  to  the  service  of  the  commonwealth,  are  all 
found  insufficient  to  withstand  those  sudden  fitful 
gusts  of  popular  wrath,  which  rudely  shake  the  true 
patriot  and  hero,  not  less  than  the  scheming  dema¬ 
gogue,  from  his  ephemeral  elevation,  and  hurl  him  in 
ignominy  to  the  ground. 

Such  spectacles  Republics  have  exhibited — the 
evidence  of  swift  and  unreasoning  changes  of  the 
popular  mind,  wrought  upon  by  an  easily-swayed 
sensibility.  The  ancient  Republics  of  Greece  and 
Rome  were  not  at  all  times  models  in  the  con- 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS. 


9 


stancy  witli  which  they  upheld,  and  the  generosity 
with  which  they  rewarded  their  most  eminent  and 
meritorious  citizens.  Themistocles  and  M.  Man¬ 
lius,  Aristides  and  Camillas,  are  not  singular  exam¬ 
ples  in  their  annals,  of  high  desert,  and  devotion 
to  the  public  good,  being  rewarded  with  contempt, 
persecution,  exile,  or  other  and  more  flagrant  wrong. 
Our  own  Republic  cannot,  perhaps,  wholly  escape 
the  charge  of  having  shown  in  some  instances  dis¬ 
respect,  if  not  ingratitude,  towards  some  of  her 
worthiest  servants  and  benefactors.  Yet  it  was  only 
for  a  time.  The  charge  of  ingratitude  towards  those 
who  have  served  her  best,  and  loved  her  most,  it 
were  far  easier  to  make  than  establish.  She  forms 
the  exception,  if  other  Republics  form  the  rule.  I 
point  with  pride  to  her  treatment  of  her  illustrious 
sons,  as  reversing  the  aforementioned  apothegm,  in¬ 
stead  of  confirming  it.  Rot  only  is  her  Washington 
enshrined  in  her  heart  of  hearts,  and  his  name  re¬ 
garded — I  will  not  say  with  gratitude,  that  is  too 
cold  a  word — but  with  an  earnestness  of  veneration, 
and  a  fervor  of  attachment,  strengthening  still  with 
the  lapse  of  years ;  but  all  those  renowned  and 
venerable  men  to  whose  toils,  sufferings,  and  sacri¬ 
fices  we  owe  the  priceless  legacy  of  our  Free  Institu¬ 
tions,  receive,  as  they  deserve,  the  fitting  tribute  to 

1* 


10  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS. 

their  wortli  and  patriotic  devotion — a  nation’s  cordial 
gratitude  and  praise.  There  may  have  been  seasons 
when  the  lustre  of  their  character  and  exploits  was 
seemingly  eclipsed  by  the  reckless  rage  of  party 
strifes  and  antagonisms ;  but  these  gusty  clouds,  shed¬ 
ding  down  malign  influences,  soon  passed  away ;  and 
not  seldom,  even  before  the  head  of  the  wronged  man 
lay  on  its  pillow  of  earth,  the  murmurs  of  partisan 
animosity  were  for  ever  lost,  in  the  truthful,  far- 
resounding  voices,  which  proclaimed  justice  and 
honor  to  the  deserving. 

Thus  Andrew  Jackson  finished  his  mortal  course, 
and  lies  sleeping  on  his  narrow  bed ;  and  who  will 
deny  to  him,  now  that  his  life-fight  is  fought  and  his 
race  run,  the  title  of  hero  and  Christian  ?  Who  refuses 
to  accord  to  him  the  soul  of  honor — the  unflinching: 
rectitude  of  purpose — the  inflexible  resolution  with 
which,  in  spite  of  all  uprising  obstacles,  he  held  on 
the  tenor  of  his  dauntless  way,  for  the  good  of  the 
country — the  lofty  patriotism  which  marked  his  cha¬ 
racter  and  shaped  his  actions  in  the  council  as  well 
as  in  the  field  ?  These  now  form  the  epitaph  which 
a  grateful  Republic  has  inscribed  upon  his  grave, 
nor  will  it  ever  be  displaced  by  characters  such  as 
those  with  which,  during  his  life,  partisan  vindictive¬ 
ness  was  wont  to  describe  his  character  and  course, 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS.  11 

and  even  liis  purposes  and  aims.  And  thus,  too, 
John  Quincy  Adams — worthily  enrolled  amongst 

“  The  few,  the  immortal  names 
That  were  not  born  to  die” — 

gathered  recently  to  his  fathers,  hoary  with  years 
and  laden  with  honors,  draws  forth  from  every  cor¬ 
ner  of  the  land,  from  papers  and  men  of  all  shades 
of  political  opinion,  a  well-nigh  unanimous  verdict  to 
his  lofty  integrity,  high  worth,  and  earnest  zeal  for 
the  interests  of  the  country  he  served  so  devotedly 
and  so  long.  This  verdict,  so  generally  and  heartily 
expressed,  now  that  he  is  dead,  is  the  verdict  to 
wdiich  the  mind  of  the  nation  had  arrived  long  pre¬ 
viously;  so  that  the  true  estimate  of  his  life  and 
character,  instead  of  springing,  as  it  were,  from  his 
tomb,  was  fixed  long  before  the  clod  covered  his 
mortal  remains.  Though  republics  have  been,  and 
may  yet  be,  ungrateful,  facts  like  these,  so  honorable 
to  the  public  mind  and  moral  sense,  must  go  far  to 
throw  ofi*  from  the  shoulders  of  our  own,  the  burden 
of  this  charge. 

We  are  assembled,  friends  and  brethren,  in  the 
hope  of  improving,  by  some  appropriate  suggestions, 
the  occasion  of  the  recent  death  of  one  of  our  most 
illustrious  citizens.  Our  purpose  is  to  draw  from 


12  THE  PRICELESS  WORTH  OF  A  GOOD  NAME. 

this  memorable  event  some  lessons  that  should  im 
press  and  profit  us,  both  as  republicans  and  Christian 
men.  The  name  and  character  of  public  benefactors 
• — and  the  true  patriot  and  servant  of  his  country 
should  hold  the  foremost  rank  among  such — are  the 
property  of  the  country,  intrusted  as  a  sacred  deposit 
to  all  coming  times.  And  just  in  proportion  as  that 
name  is  honored,  not  simply  for  the  deeds  which  are 
associated  with  it,  but  for  its  moral  worth ;  just  as 
that  character  is  distinguished,  not  merely  for  the 
genius  which  originated,  or  the  force  which  carried 
out,  lofty  plans  of  public  utility,  but  for  the  virtues 
that  adorned  it,  will  it  be  deserving  of  the  permanent 
respect  and  veneration  of  mankind,  dust  as  sterling 
and  unswerving  truth  and  probity  predominate  in  a 
man  of  mark,  does  it  become  safe  to  propose  him  as 
an  example  to  others.  Where  such  is  the  case,  the 
pulpit  should  not  be  the  last  to  point  out  such  a  cha¬ 
racter  and  commend  it  to  the  wide  consideration  it 
deserves.  Where  it  is  not  found,  no  Christian  minis¬ 
ter  could  eulogize  the  man  who,  great  and  gifted 
though  he  might  have  been,  high  in  rank  and  heroic 
in  action,  lived  yet  regardless  of  God,  and  the  re¬ 
straints  and  sanctions  of  his  law,  without  compromis¬ 
ing  the  dignity  of  his  calling,  and  trifling  with  the 
highest  interests  of  men. 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS. 


13 


Our  great  aim  is,  and  always  should  be,  to  teach 
men  to  live  virtuously  that  they  may  live  usefully 
and  happily ;  to  teach  them  to  fear  God,  reverence 
and  obey  his  statutes,  love  their  country,  he  submis¬ 
sive  to  proper  authorities — which  are  inseparable 
from  the  order,  peace,  and  well-being  of  states  as 
well  as  individuals — to  promote  by  direct  aims  and 
loyal  labors  the  true  harmony  and  happiness  of  man 
and  society;  in  a  word,  to  use  the  Prophet’s  lan¬ 
guage,  “  to  do  justly,  love  mercy,  and  walk  humbly 
•with  God,”  which,  run  out  into  its  legitimate  infer¬ 
ences,  may  be  regarded  as  a  compendium  of  the 
Christian  precept  and  practice.  If  we  can  secure 
attention  to  these  lessons,  and  enforce  them  by  point¬ 
ing  to  the  life-example  of  some  eminent  citizen, 
whose  career  has  illustrated  these  great  principles, 
the  opportunity  should  not  be  lost.  “  History,”  it 
has  been  said,  “is  philosophy  teaching  by  exam¬ 
ples,”  and  a  most  striking  and  impressive  kind  of 
philosophy  it  is — a  philosophy  that  the  greatest  of 
teachers  has  commended  to  the  world  by  making  it 
the  vehicle  of  conveying  the  most  momentous  and 
sublime  truths  that  ever  fell  upon  the  ear  of  man. 

Influenced  by  these  sentiments,  need  I  ofler  any 
apology  for  making  the  death  of  one  of  our  most 
honored  and  virtuous  public  men  the  special  theme 


14  THE  PRICELESS  WORTH  OF  A  GOOD  NAME. 

of  discourse,  designating  his  life  and  example  as 
worthy  to  point  and  enforce  whatever  lessons  the 
present  occasion  may  suggest  ? 

But  previously  let  us  attend  for  a  moment  to  the 
specific  teachings  of  the  text,  for  all  our  reflections 
will  be  closely  connected  and  interwoven  with  them. 

“  A  good  name,”  says  the  suggestive  sage,  “  is  rather 
to  he  chosen  than  great  riches.”  The  sentiment  is 
expressive,  with  truth  stamped  upon  the  face  of  it, 
and  yet  denied  and  treated  with  contumely,  not  in 
word  indeed,  for  few  would  have  the  hardihood  thus  ’ 
to  deny  it,  hut  in  the  course  and  action  of,  I  much 
fear,  the  greater  part  of  mankind.  In  the  fierce 
scramble  to  grasp  riches  in  which  the  higher  ener¬ 
gies  of  crowds  are  absorbed,  how  little  comparative 
regard  is  often  paid  to  the  matter  of  securing  the 
prize  of  a  good  name.  Hot  that  men,  for  the  most 
part,  are  indifferent  absolutely  to  the  possession  of 
such  a  treasure,  for  the  value  of  it,  in  every  respect, 
is  too  palpable  not  to  he  generally  desired.  But  in 
the  eagerness  to  grow  rich,  in  the  desperate  strife  of 
competition,  in  the  corrupting  and  deadening  influ¬ 
ence  of  a  purely  worldly  and  selfish  pursuit  and 
policy,  through  the  force  of  earth-born  maxims  and 
the  example  and  association  of  the  unscrupulous,  the 
peerless  eligibility  of  an  unsullied  name  is  apt  to  he 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS. 


15 


lost  sight  of,  and  a  valueless  bauble  chosen  rather 
than  a  gem  whose  worth  cannot  he  matched  by  all 
the  riches  which  the  earth’s  bowels  or  the  ocean’s 
depths  have  ever  yielded. 

The  glitter  of  gold  so  dazzles  the  eye  of  him  that 
gazes  long  and  intently  on  it,  that  when  it  turns  to 
look  at  other  objects  they  seem  involved  in  shadow 
or  mist,  if  not  altogether  invisible.  Thus  a  good 
name  is  undervalued  because  not  distinctly  seen  in 
its  true  proportions.  The  hours  of  the  day,  and 
often  the  night  watches,  are  consumed  in  laying 
plans  or  in  executing  them,  to  heap  riches  together, 
not  knowing  who  shall  enjoy  them.  Rushing  on  in 
swift  and  eager  pursuit  of — what  often  proves  a  phan¬ 
tom — gain,  the  mind  suffers  its  energies  to  be  tasked 
to  their  utmost  to  compass  the  fascinating  object. 
The  voices  of  the  world’s  sophistry,  chiming  in  with 
the  passions  of  the  heart,  conspire  to  blunt  all  sense 
of  reverence  for  a  higher  controlling  agency — the 
marble  tables  of  a  holy  and  just  God’s  law.  The 
goal  is  reached  perhaps  at  last.  Wealth  is  won,  but 
the  good  name  is  for  ever  lost.  Then  man  yieldeth 
up  the  ghost,  and  where  is  he?  And  what  monu¬ 
ment  to  his  honor  has  he  reared  for  himself,  or 
memorial  of  it  does  he  leave  behind  him?  What 
imprint  of  his  moral  character  and  heroic  qualities  is 


16  THE  PRICELESS  WORTH  OF  A  GOOD  NAME. 

stamped  in  legible  and  lasting  characters  upon  his  age, 
or  on  the  community  or  society  in  which  he  lived? 
What  legacy  does  he  leave  to  his  children,  that  they 
may  rise  up  and  call  him  blessed  ?  Is  it  great  riches 
that  he  leaves  with  a  soiled  name?  Vain  inherit¬ 
ance — filthy  rags  !  beside  that  character  for  probity 
and  uprightness  which  gold  never  bought,  as  its 
absence  never  obscured.  It  is  not  the  largest  ac¬ 
cumulations  of  a  man’s  most  successful  lifetime,  not 
his  fame  as  a  rich  man  and  nothing  more,  which, 
following  him  when  he  dies,  the  Scripture  speaks  of 
with  commendation,  but  exactly  the  reverse.  “For,” 
says  the  Psalmist,  “  they  that  trust  in  their  wealth, 
and  boast  themselves  in  the  multitude  of  their  riches, 
none  of  them  can  by  any  means  redeem  his  brother, 
nor  give  to  God  a  ransom  for  him.  Their  inward 
thought  is,  that  their  houses  shall  continue  for  ever, 
and  their  dwelling-places  to  all  generations  ;  they 
call  their  lands  after  their  own  names.  Neverthe¬ 
less,  man  being  in  honor  abideth  not,  he  is  like  the 
beasts  that  perish.”  Like  the  beasts  that  perish ! 
that  is,  without  worthy  memorial  to  proclaim  the 
right  use  he  made  of  his  reason,  and  the  dignified 
and  beneficent  moral  aims  to  which  he  consecrated  his 
talents  and  time,  without  having  gathered  the  mate¬ 
rials  out  of  which  a  good  name  is  constituted,  to  be 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS.  17 


held  in  grateful  yet  sad  remembrance  by  the  genera¬ 
tions  following.  Death  comes,  and,  like  the  beasts, 
that  is  the  end  of  him,  so  far  as  concerns  any  abiding 
influence  for  good,  any  solid  benefit  conferred  upon 
society  or  the  race,  exerted  by  his  character,  prin¬ 
ciples,  or  works,  either  while  living  on  earth  or 
sleeping  under  it. 

It  is  far  different  with  those  who  have  learned  to 
prize,  and  labored  to  secure,  an  honored  and  un¬ 
sullied  name,  regarding  it  as  the  worthiest  of  acqui¬ 
sitions.  Though  the  object  be  never  so  difficult  of 
attainment,  the  happiness  of  reaching  it,  over  all 
obstacles,  is  only  the  more  serene  and  immovable. 
It  is  rather  to  be  chosen  than  great  riches,  because 
intrinsically  worth  more,  being  itself  an  incompara¬ 
ble  treasure  to  its  possessor.  Hot  only  can  he  move 
amongst  his  fellow-men,  with  bold  tread,  erect  coun¬ 
tenance,  and  unquailing  eye,  sure  of  their  respect 
by  being  conscious  of  no  act  or  design  to  forfeit  it, 
but  the  related  consciousness  of  upright  intentions 
and  deeds  renders  his  mind  calm,  and  his  conscience 
quiet,  and  his  nightly  pillow  free  from  thorns.  In 
his  seasons  of  retirement  and  self-communion,  often 
so  full  of  agitation  and  alarms  to  the  guilty  bosom, 
which  cannot  bear  to  have  its  hidden  pools  stirred 
and  its  secrecies  explored,  he  finds  no  task  more  de- 


18  THE  PRICELESS  WORTH  OF  A  GOOD  NAME. 

lightful  and  refreshing  than  close  converse  with  the 
powers  and  agencies  hidden  within  his  own  breast. 
If  riches  increase — for  this  is  no  way  inconsistent 
with  the  loftiest  integrity — he  prizes  them  no  higher 
than  they  deserve,  and  his  good  name  far  more 
highly  than  they.  If  adversity  lower,  or  calamity 
fall  upon  him,  or  friends  desert  and  betray,  or  mis¬ 
fortunes  come  in  clusters  to  overwhelm  him,  in  every 
scene,  in  all  emergencies,  he  can  find  in  a  good 
name  both  a  bulwark  and  an  asylum,  affording  him 
safety,  comfort,  and  support. 

And  when  he  dies  his  name  does  not  perish.  The 
savor  of  his  lifelong  beneficence  survives.  His 
principles,  works,  character,  influence — live.  All 
that  he  was,  all  that  he  did,  all  that  he  undertook, 
and  suffered,  and  accomplished  for  the  good  of 
others,  remains,  not  to  be  obliterated,  in  the  memory 
of  those  who  come  after  him — descends  to  his  chil¬ 
dren  and  his  children’s  children,  as  a  legacy  more 
precious  than  rubies — the  obtaining  of  which  is 
counted  the  pride,  the  ornament,  and  the  lustre  of 
the  house  for  generations  to  come  ;  and  if  a  man  of 
mark  and  influence  in  the  public  councils,  are  en¬ 
shrined  imperishably  in  the  heart  of  the  nation.  In 
the  light  of  such  considerations,  how  immeasurably 
is  a  good  name  more  worthy  to  be  chosen  than  great 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS.  19 

riclies ;  and  with  what  admirable  truth  and  point  is 
the  mighty  difference  stated,  the  broad  contrast  set 
forth,  in  the  single  significant  sentence  of  the  sage 
of  Israel,  u  The  memory  of  the  just  is  blessed,  but 
the  name  of  the  wicked  shall  rot.” 

I  pass  from  this  general  view  of  the  sentiment 
and  teaching  of  the  text,  to  a  particular  application 
of  the  subject  to  that  honored  name,  which  still 
lives,  and  will  live,  in  the  regard  and  affections  of 
his  countrymen,  though  he  who  bore  it  is  now  num¬ 
bered  with  the  dead. 

If  we  consider  him,  first,  as  a  public  man ,  we 
shall  find  him  bearing  and  preserving  a  good  name 
in  all  the  stations  he  filled,  and  in  all  the  services  he 
was  called  to  perform. 

The  son  of  one  of  the  most  illustrious  men  that 
this  or  any  other  country  has  produced — a  name 
fragrant  with  revolutionary  reminiscences,  one  whose 
fortunate  lot  it  was  to  rear  and  bear  up,  in  common 
with  his  noble  compatriots,  the  first  pillars  that 
sustained  the  fabric  of  our  liberties — John  Quincy 
Adams,  enjoyed  advantages  of  early  education  which 
very  few,  indeed,  of  the  youth  of  our  country  ever 
possessed.  Trained  beneath  his  father’s  eye — aided 
by  the  rare  lessons  of  his  rich  and  varied  experience, 
imbued  with  his  principles,  exposed  to  the  influence 


20  THE  PRICELESS  WORTH  OF  A  GOOD  NAME. 

of  liis  sliining  example — and  through  his  father’s 
rank,  as  well  as  lofty  character,  enjoying  unexam¬ 
pled  facilities  for  rising  in  the  commonwealth,  what 
circumstances  can  be  conceived  more  favorable,  not 
only  for  forming  and  developing  his  character  aright, 
but  for  opening  the  way  for  his  advancement  to  the 
highest  and  most  honorable  stations  in  the  land  ? 
If  true  to  himself,  and  not  deficient  in  intellect,  he 
could  hardly  fail,  under  such  circumstances,  to  suc¬ 
ceed  in  any  laudable  object  of  ambition.  That  he 
was  true  to  himself,  that  he  faithfully  availed  him¬ 
self  of  these  rare  opportunities  of  improvement,  his 
whole  subsequent  career  is  the  decisive  proof.  And 
for  this  we  specially  praise  him,  and  hold  him  up  as 
among  the  worthiest  examples  in  our  nation’s  his¬ 
tory — not  that  the  advantages  of  education  resulting 
from  his  birth  and  position  were  so  great — not  that 
the  facilities  for  pushing  his  fortunes  were  so  unpa¬ 
ralleled — for  this  might  infer  less  talent,  or  energy, 
or  perseverance  on  his  part  to  rise  to  distinction 
than  those  possessed  by  other  sons  of  the  Eepublic, 
who,  without  high  birth,  or  powerful  friends,  or  am¬ 
ple  resources,  or  special  facilities  of  any  kind  save 
those  which  the  genius  of  our  free  institutions  sup¬ 
plies  to  their  own  naked  talent  and  indomitable 
energy,  have  risen  step  by  step  to  posts  as  lofty  and 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS. 


21 


honors  as  distinguished  as  he.  Not  for  this  do  we 
specially  praise  him — bnt  for  the  admirable  use  he 
made  of  the  gifts  of  fortunate  circumstances — for 
the  nerve  and  the  moral  heroism  with  which  he 
encountered  and  vanquished  the  dangers  incident  to 
his  high  position — for  the  skill  with  which  he  avoided 
the  shoals  and  quicksands  on  which  many  youth,  in 
circumstances  somewhat  akin  to  his  own,  have  suf¬ 
fered  miserable  shipwreck.  We  praise  him  because 
neither  his  position  in  society,  nor  the  gifts  of  for¬ 
tune,  nor  the  ample  scope  afforded  to  the  gratifica¬ 
tion  of  youthful  passion,  nor  the  seductions  of  courtly 
but  unprincipled  associates,  had  the  effect  to  render 
him  haughty,  or  luxurious,  or  dissipated,  or  careless 
— since  there  existed  no  necessity  to  labor — of  the 
culture  of  his  mind.  To  steer  clear  of  all  these  dan¬ 
gers,  and  achieve  his  high  purposes  in  spite  of  them, 
implies  strength  of  character  and  moral  worth  of  a 
very  remarkable  kind,  and  because  he  tried  this  and 
succeeded,  he  is  entitled  to  the  highest  praise. 

If  we  trace  him  through  the  whole  of  his  public 
career  down  to  its  extraordinary  close,  we  shall  find 
his  more  matured  character  and  powers  fully  bear¬ 
ing  out  the  promise  of  their  spring.  ~No  man,  in  the 
history  of  this  country,  ever  entered  the  service  of 
government  so  early,  or  remained  in  it  so  long,  or 


22  THE  PRICELESS  WORTH  OF  A  GOOD  NAME. 

resigned  it  under  circumstances  so  affecting.  A  pri¬ 
vate  secretary  to  a  minister  at  a  foreign  court  at  tlie 
age  of  fourteen  years ;  we  find  liim  in  his  seat  among 
the  representatives  of  the  nation  when  upwards  of 
fourscore.  Extreme  youth  on  the  one  hand,  extreme 
old  age  on  the  other — and  both  extremes  to  a  degree 
almost  without  a  parallel  in  the  life  of  any  man  of 
any  nation,  finding  him  honorably  engaged  in  the 
service  of  the  country.  And  the  long  interval  sepa¬ 
rating  these  extremes,  with  the  exception  of  a  few 
years,  which  should,  perhaps,  hardly  be  called  an 
exception,  filled  up  with  the  various  high  and  honor¬ 
able  offices  to  which  he  was  called,  including  the 
very  highest  in  the  gift  of  our  Republic. 

Thus,  during  a  term  of  years,  which,  taken  alto¬ 
gether,  may  be  looked  upon  as  the  fair  length  of  a 
whole  lifetime,  we  find  that  Mr.  Adams  was  a 
public  man,  engaged  in  the  service  of  his  country. 
3SI" or  is  this  fact  more  extraordinary  than  the  credita¬ 
ble  manner  in  which  he  bore  the  honors  heaped 
upon  him,  and  filled  the  offices  in  which  he  was 
placed — cheered  by  the  admiration  of  his  friends, 
and  extorting,  by  his  high  character,  the  respect 
even  of  those  whose  opinions  on  questions  of  state 
policy  differed  from  his  own.  For,  whether  we 
regard  him  as  minister  to  a  foreign  court,  or  mem- 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS. 


23 


ber  of  tlie  Senate  of  bis  own  State  or  of  the  Union, 
or  head  of  the  American  Commission  to  negotiate 
the  treaty  of  Ghent,  or  Secretary  of  State,  or  Presi¬ 
dent  of  the  United  States,  or  member  of  the  House 
of  Representatives,  we  find  him  bearing  in  each  and 
all  of  these  stations  that  “  good  name  to  be  chosen 
rather  than  great  riches.”  The  integrity  of  aim — 
the  conscientious  wish  and  determination  to  do  right 
and  promote  the  interests  of  the  country — the  honest 
and  liberal  views,  which,  spurning  the  trammels  of 
party,  looked  to  the  welfare  of  the  many  rather  than 
to  the  petty  interests  of  the  few,  are  not  claimed  for 
him  simply  by  his  friends,  but  are  frankly  awarded 
him  by  the  candid  verdict  of  many,  once  most 
warmly  opposed  to  his  schemes  and  policy  in  con¬ 
ducting  the  affairs  of  the  government. 

It  would,  of  course,  be  foreign  to  this  place  and 
to  the  character  of  this  service  to  enter  at  all  into 
the  discussion  of  those  principles  of  government  and 
of  public  affairs,  held  by  this  distinguished  man,  on 
which  the  minds  of  men  differed,  and  still  to  some 
extent  differ.  To  the  future  biographer  or  historian 
will  belong  the  task  of  sifting  these  principles,  and 
assigning  them  their  true  place  and  value,  as  the 
calm  judgment  of  posterity.  I  am  concerned  simply 
with  the  morale  of  his  public  life — with  his  name,  so 


24:  THE  PRICELESS  WORTH  OF  A  GOOD  NAME. 

far  as  it  may  illustrate  the  sentiment  of  the  text. 
My  design  is  to  draw  useful  lessons  from  what  is  fair 
and  upright  in  his  character.  Two  points,  however 
remotely  connected  with  this  forbidden  subject,  de¬ 
mand  at  least  a  passing  notice,  as  throwing  a  fine 
light  upon  the  character  of  his  name. 

The  first  is,  the  noble  stand  he  took  in  behalf  of 
the  right  of  petition,  at  a  time  when  the  question 
of  the  abolition  of  slavery  was  agitating  the  Union 
from  one  extremity  to  the  other ;  when,  between  the 
excessive  sensitiveness  of  one  portion  of  the  Union  in 
shrinking  from  this  question,  and  the  hot  pertinacity 
of  the  other  in  forcing  it  before  the  country,  the  ark 
of  our  liberties,  tossed  by  these  adverse  and  threat¬ 
ening  surges,  seemed  well  nigh  on  the  point  of  going 
down.  From  all  parts  of  the  free  States  petitions 
came  pouring  in,  for  Congress  to  legislate  upon  this 
delicate  question,  while  the  frowns  and  the  scowls, 
the  loud  and  angry  remonstrances,  the  fierce  invec¬ 
tives  of  those  who  refused  even  to  hear  petitions, 
which  they  regarded  as  a  monstrous  interference 
with  their  vested  rights,  proclaimed  the  exciting  and 
ominous  nature  of  the  contest. 

And  there  sat  the  champion  of  the  right  of  peti¬ 
tion,  like  another  Neptune,  calm  amid  the  rudest 
commotion  of  the  elements,  shaping  his  course  by 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS.  25 


the  great  principles  of  freedom,  truth,  and  right. 
Or  rising  in  his  place  in  debate,  armed  at  all  points 
by  his  ripe  experience — his  long  and  intimate  ac¬ 
quaintance  with  public  affairs — his  profound  and 
varied  knowledge — the  high  ability  to  bring  all  to 
bear  upon  his  argument — and  more  than  all,  the 
justice  of  his  cause,  the  “  old  man  eloquent  ”  poured 
forth  torrents  of  learning,  logic,  law,  sound  philoso¬ 
phy,  the  rich  and  varied  treasures  of  his  mind,  and 
sometimes  invective  and  sarcasm  to  overwhelm  his 
adversaries,  Nor  could  manly  argument  resist  his 
force,  nor  sophistry  evade  his  penetration ;  nor  ridi¬ 
cule,  nor  sneers,  nor  threats  move  him  one  iota  from 
his  firm  position.  Year  after  year  he  continued  the 
contest,  planting  himself  immovably  upon  the  Con¬ 
stitution  which  guarantees  to  the  people  the  right  of 
petition,  beating  down  from  his  vantage  ground  the 
weak  defences  of  his  opponents ;  regarded  by  them 
with  respect,  not  unmingled  with  fear,  and  (for  such 
is  human  nature)  even  hatred  of  the  man,  in  a  con¬ 
flict  with  whom  no  laurels  could  be  gained. 

And  had  John  Quincy  Adams  done  nothing  more 
for  his  good  name  and  his  country  than  what  he 
achieved  on  this  stirring  arena,  he  would  have  con¬ 
ferred  enviable  lustre  upon  the  one,  and  deserved  the 
lasting  thanks  of  the  other.  Nor  would  the  words 


26  THE  PRICELESS  WORTH  OF  A  GOOD  NAME. 

applied  to  Chevalier  Bayard,  “  the  man  without  fear 
and  without  reproach,”  be  misapplied,  particularly  in 
reference  to  this  struggle,  if  attached  to  his  venera¬ 
ble  name. 

The  other  point  I  would  advert  to,  is  this.  It  has 
been  said  that  it  is  derogatory  to  the  name  and  dig¬ 
nity  of  Mr.  Adams,  after  having  filled  the  highest 
station  in  the  gift  of  the  people,  to  be  found  after¬ 
wards  occupying  a  place  so  comparatively  humble, 
as  a  seat  in  the  Nation’s  Hall  of  Representatives. 
He  should  have  retired  after  leaving  the  Presidency, 
as  his  predecessors  had  done,  to  the  shades  of  private 
life  for  the  remainder  of  his  days,  and  there,  afar  from 
the  bustle  of  active  life,  and  the  strife  of  tongues,  have 
rested  in  calm  and  dignified  repose  upon  his  honors. 

This  question  resolves  itself  into  one  of  motives. 
There  is  certainly  nothing  undignified  in  serving  the 
country,  or  desiring  to  serve  it,  in  whatever  rank  or 
capacity,  the  lowest  as  well  as  the  highest.  Had  the 
motive  which  drew  Mr.  Adams  from  retirement  been 
the  mere  love  of  place  or  distinction  for  their  own 
sake,  his  consenting  to  become  a  Representative  of 
the  people,  would  be  every  way  unworthy  and  unjus¬ 
tifiable.  But  from  all  we  know  of  his  character  such 
a  supposition  cannot  be  for  one  moment  entertained. 
He  accepted  the  station  when  offered,  not  because  he 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  JOHN  QTJINCY  ADAMS.  27 


was  covetous  of  its  honors,  much  less  of  its  emolu¬ 
ments,  but  because  he  was  ever  ready  and  anxious 
to  do  the  state  service  when  the  opportunity  was 
presented;  because  he  believed  that  his  abilities 
belonged  to  his  country,  and  that  whenever  she 
called — whenever  his  fellow-citizens  called,  it  was 
his  duty  to  sacrifice  his  own  inclinations  and  ease,  by 
occupying  in  her  service  any  station,  however  humble 
it  might  be. 

So  far,  then,  from  acting  an  unbecoming  part  in 
pursuing  this  course,  his  name  derives  additional  lus¬ 
tre  from  a  circumstance  so  unexampled  in  the  his¬ 
tory  of  the  Republic.  In  truth,  his  name  had  never 
been  what  it  now  is,  but  for  the  situation  in  which  he 
was  here  placed,  and  the  circumstances  attendant  on 
this  memorable  struggle.  Heroic  qualities  developed 
themselves  here,  the  possession  of  which  his  country¬ 
men  had  not  suspected  before,  and  of  which  he 
appears  to  have  been  hardly  conscious  himself — but 
qualities  none  the  less  real,  or  sterling,  or  exalted, 
because  they  had  lain  dormant  hitherto,  and  required 
the  stimulating  force  of  such  a  time  and  occasion, 
and  such  rough  collisions,  to  awaken  them  to  life  and 
activity.  Hor  is  it  too  much  to  say,  that  the  most 
lustrous  page  in  his  history  will  ever  be  the  very  one 
containing  his  conflicts  and  his  victories  as  one  of  the 


28  THE  PRICELESS  WORTH  OF  A  GOOD  NAME. 

people’s  Representatives.  He  accepted  a  lower  office 
than  the  one  he  had  held,  in  the  spirit  of  that  illus¬ 
trious  Theban,  Epaminondas,  who  being  in  disgrace 
for  a  season  among  the  fickle  people  he  had  served 
too  well,  and  being  appointed  in  contempt  to  some 
inferior  city  office,  took  the  place,  calmly  remarking 
that,  “  instead  of  being  disgraced  by  the  office,  he 
would  confer  dignity  upon  it.”  If  it  is  sweet  and 
honorable  to  die  for  one’s  country,  no  true  citizen  can 
lose  dignity  by  serving  her  sincerely  in  any  station 
to  which  that  country  may  call  him. 

And  Oh,  how  beautifully  adapted  to  the  whole 
course  and  tenor  of  this  long  life  so  filled  up  with 
services  to  the  country,  was  its  impressive  close. 
With  his  harness  on,  all  furbished,  and  ready  as 
always  to  guard  the  interests  of  the  state,  and  do 
battle  for  the  right  and  the  true ;  seated  in  that 
Hall,  in  which,  for  years,  his  voice  had  been  uplifted 
in  support  of  truth,  justice,  public  faith,  the  great 
principles  which  lie  at  the  foundation  of  a  nation’s 
freedom  and  prosperity — where  the  words  of  his  wis¬ 
dom  had  been  spoken,  and  their  influence  felt ; 
where  his  best  energies  had  been  devoted  to  the  pub¬ 
lic  good — surrounded  by  friends  who  venerated  his 
character,  and  loved  his  person,  and  regarded  his 
utterances  almost  as  the  voice  of  an  oracle ;  the  blow 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS.  29 


from  an  invisible  band  strikes  him,  and  the  venera¬ 
ble  form  bows  before  its  force.  And  as  be  feels  the 
fountain  of  life  drying  up,  be  murmurs  bis  satisfac¬ 
tion.  “This  is  tbe  last  of  earth,  I  am  content.7’ 
Well  might  be  be  content.  For  be  “  died  in  a  good 
old  age,  an  old  man  and  full  of  years,”  but  not  more 
full  of  years  tlian  of  honors,  which  be  honestly  earned 
and  worthily  bore.  And  in  all  coming  times,  as  our 
countrymen  point  with  pride  and  admiration  to  the 
bright  examples  of  our  history,  the  eye  will  fondly  lin¬ 
ger  upon  the  “  old  man  eloquent,”  whose  accents  death 
hushed,  while  standing,  his  head  all  whitened  with  the 
frosts  of  eighty  winters,  at  his  post  of  trust  and  duty. 

I  pass  from  these  notices  of  the  public  life  of  Mr. 
Adams,  to  glance  at  two  or  three  features  marking 
what  I  may  call  his  every-day  life  and  character ; 
and  which,  if  less  conspicuous  to  the  gaze  of  the 
world,  are  none  the  less  important  as  constituent  ele- 

i 

ments  of  a  worthy  name  and  example.  We  cannot 
indeed  know  a  man  well,  unless  we  look  in  upon  him 
in  his  retirement,  in  the  bosom  of  his  family,  in  the 
unreserved  hours  of  social  intercourse ;  when  the 
stilts  and  the  stiffness  with  which  he  appears  before 
the  public  are  laid  aside,  and  he  unbends  himself 
from  his  formal  state,  and  beneath  familiar  and  un¬ 
criticizing  eyes,  or  in  the  loved  retreat  of  his  home 


30  THE  PRICELESS  WORTH  OF  A  GOOD  NAME. 

sanctuary,  becomes  wliat  lie  really  is,  neither  less  nor 
more.  If  we  look  at  Mr.  Adams  at  sncli  seasons  as 
these,  we  shall  see  in  his  social  and  individual  life, 
the  solid  materials  out  of  which  a  good  name  is  com¬ 
posed.  We  see  him  a  rigid  economist  of  time,  a  man 
of  earnest  and  laborious  application,  scorning  not  to 
bend  itself  to  the  smallest  details  of  business,  seem¬ 
ingly  trivial,  but  really  important,  and  all  conducted 
in  the  most  orderly  and  systematic  manner.  We 
shall  find  him  regardful  of  his  health,  temperate  and 
abstemious  in  his  habits,  the  fair  fruits  of  which  were 
seen  in  a  hale  and  vigorous  old  age,  reaching  quite 
up  to  fourscore  years,  and  free  from  the  “  labor  and 
sorrow”  which  the  Psalmist  assigns  as  the  usual 
concomitant  of  such  longevity.  We  shall  find  him 
loyal  in  his  friendships,  kindly  in  his  intercourse  and 
in  the  varied  relations  of  social  and  domestic  life, 
exhibiting  warmth  and  steadiness  of  affection,  and 
tender  solicitude  for  the  comfort  and  welfare  of  the 
humblest  of  those  who  might  claim  his  love  and  sym¬ 
pathy,  needed  his  protection,  or  sought  his  aid. 
While  principles,  derived  from  a  source  higher  than 
earth  ever  opened,  shaped  his  course,  controlled  his 
actions,  dignified  his  aims,  formed  at  once  the  ballast 
and  the  ornament  of  his  character,  and  were  the 
foundation  on  which  rested  whatever  in  his  lone:  and 

O 


ON  THE  DEATH  OE  JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS.  31 


eventful  life  was  most  comely  and  commendable. 
One  or  two  of  these  points  may  be  selected  from  the 
rest,  as  worthy  of  a  passing  observation. 

The  value  he  set  upon  time,  and  his  unflagging  in¬ 
dustry,  are  important  things,  and  specially  worthy  of 
remark. 

IIow  broad  and  almost  hopeless  appears  the  inter¬ 
val  between  the  child  learning  his  alphabet,  and  the 
man  with  his  mind  stored  with  the  hoarded  treasures 
gathered  from  all  quarters  of  the  world,  and  from 
every  department  of  knowledge — between  Hewton 
the  philosopher,  spreading  before  the  world  the 
astonishing  results  of  his  “Principia,”  and  Hewton 
the  boy,  toilfully  mastering  the  puzzling  principles 
of  his  horn-book.  And  yet  this  man  was  once  that 
little  child,  and  all  he  lias,  to  interest  or  instruct  men, 
or  excite  their  wonder,  is  the  fruit  of  constant  indus¬ 
try,  the  result  of  laying  up,  like  the  ant,  grain  by 
grain,  stores  for  future  use.  It  is  incredible  what 
accumulations  a  single  mind  can  amass  that  uses  time 
properly  and  bends  itself  to  the  work  of  gathering. 
There  is  little  indeed  of  any  acquired  thing,  that  is 
greatly  excellent  without  toil,  and  of  learning  still 
less.  As  soon  will  a  man  lay  his  hand  upon  the  rain¬ 
bow,  and  with  his  fingers  separate  its  prismatic  beau¬ 
ties,  as  become  learned  without  labor.  It  was  time 


32  THE  PRICELESS  WORTH  OF  A  GOOD  NAME. 

well  spent,  and  vigorous  and  unswerving  application, 
that  enriched  the  mind  of  Mr.  Adams  with  know¬ 
ledge,  not  simply  adapted  and  necessary  to  the  public 
man,  hut  classical,  scientific,  historical,  and  literary  ; 
knowledge  of  widest  range  and  most  varied  descrip¬ 
tion.  He  was  not  only  an  able  statesman  and  diplo¬ 
matist,  hut  a  scholar  of  no  unripe  attainments — well 
versed  in  the  science  of  government,  and  in  the  phi¬ 
losophy  of  history,  as  well  as  its  details,  with  the  lat¬ 
ter  of  which,  his  familiarity,  both  as  respected  his 
own  and  foreign  countries,  was  uncommonly  exten¬ 
sive  and  accurate.  He  not  only  wrote  well  on  politi¬ 
cal  subjects,  hut  on  those  of  general  literature.  Even 
in  poetry  he  was  so  well  skilled  as  to  write  it  with  grace¬ 
ful  fluency,  and  though  putting  forward  no  poetical 
claims,  will  compare  not  unfavorably  with  some  wTho 
make  noisier  pretensions ;  wdiile  a  few  of  his  pieces 
that  might  he  named,  deserve  to  rank  amongst  the 
most  agreeable  specimens  of  fugitive  verse,  flowing 
like  water,  and  in  numberless  rills  from  the  rhyming 
genius  of  the  age. 

How  all  this  required  time  and  industry,  and  how 
continuous  and  systematic  that  industry  was,  may  be 
inferred  from. the  fact,  I  have  seen  stated  on  good 
authority,  that  it  was  his  custom  to  preserve"  copies 
of  all  the  letters  he  wrote,  and  to  keep  a  diary, 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS.  33 


during  all  liis  public  life,  in  which  entries  were 
statedly  made  of  all  circumstances  and  passing 
events  which  he  deemed  interesting  or  important, 
illustrated  by  apposite  reflections.  When  that  diary 
is  given  to  the  world,  as  it  doubtless  will  be,  it  will 
open  to  its  possessor  a  treasure  of  interest  and  infor¬ 
mation  hardly  to  be  found  elsewhere,  relating  to  the 
men,  manners,  and  sentiments  of  an  age  now 
passing  away.  Happy,  if  those  who  read,  be  led 
to  imitate,  as  they  must  admire,  the  resolute  in¬ 
dustry  of  a  hand  now  cold  in  death,  perpetuat¬ 
ing  its  daily  exploits  by  so  characteristic  a  me¬ 
morial. 

If  we  further  survey  him  in  the  walks  of  domestic 
life,  we  shall  find  nothing  to  impair  but  everything 
to  confirm  the  views  already  presented.  As  a  son, 
a  husband,  a  father,  he  bore  himself  in  each  endear¬ 
ing  relation,  with  an  exemplary  regard  to  the  re¬ 
quirements,  interests,  and  wants  of  those  with  whom 
he  was  so  closely  associated.  From  the  touching  lan¬ 
guage  in  which  his  surviving  partner  bewailed  her 
loss,  while  expressing  her  gratitude  for  the  sympa¬ 
thizing  attentions  she  received  in  her  bereavement, 
we  may  infer  how  great  she  felt  that  loss  to  be. 
His  paternal  tenderness  and  assiduity,  were  the 
record  before  us,  woidd  be  hardly  less  striking  and 

2* 


34:  THE  PRICELESS  WORTH  OF  A  GOOD  NAME. 

attractive.  No  spectacle  indeed  is  more  beautiful 
than  to  see  the  man  on  wliose  features  public  cares 
and  burdens  impress  gravity  and  sometimes  stern¬ 
ness,  whose  “  out-door  visage  awes  the  crowd,”  laying 
aside  delightedly  as  his  foot  presses  his  own  door- 
stone,  whatever  of  imposing  dignity  he  had  worn 
elsewhere,  and  entering  with  keen  zest  into  the 
sports  and  diversions  of  childhood,  becoming  a  child 
among  children.  It  was  Spartan  Agesilaus,  I  think, 
a  true  hero  among  heroes,  in  an  age  abounding  with 
such,  who  was  surprised  one  day  by  an  ambassador 
from  a  foreign  state  abruptly  entering  his  room,  and 
finding  him  riding  a  stick  and  curvetting  and  sport¬ 
ing  with  his  boisterous  juveniles.  He  quelled  the 
accents  of  amazement  which  rose  to  his  visitor’s  lips, 
by  bidding  him  say  nothing  of  what  he  saw,  till  he 
should  himself  become  a  father.  This  is  admirable. 
Nor  is  it  hard  to  imagine,  how  Mr.  Adams,  full  of 
the  sensibility  of  a  warm  and  loving  heart,  could 
have  sat  for  such  a  portrait  as  this.  It  delights  us  to 
place  him  side  by  side  in  this  respect  with  the  bold 
old  hero  of  New  Orleans,  whose  yearning  tenderness 
towards  his  partner  even  after  the  grave  had  sepa¬ 
rated  them,  and  whose  gentle  attention  towards  the 
children  of  a  relative  who  dwelt  under  his  roof,  are 
among  the  proudest  memories  that  cluster  round  his 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS. 


name."  Not  only  are  tlie  tenderest  affections  per¬ 
fectly  compatible  with  tlie  loftiest  intellect,  the  most 
iron  resolution  and  indomitable  courage,  but  the 
union  of  these,  in  some  degree  at  least,  rarely  fails 
to  be  found  in  those  strong  characters  which  most 
command,  if  they  do  not  always  deserve,  the  respect 
and  homage  of  mankind. 

But  the  foundation  of  all  this  excellence  is  to  be 

*  “  There  was  a  deep-seated  vein  of  piety  in  him  (Gen.  Jackson), 
unaffectedly  showing  itself  in  his  reverence  for  divine  worship, 
respect  for  the  Ministers  of  the  Gospel,  their  hospitable  reception  in 
his  house,  and  constant  encouragement  of  all  the  pious  tendencies 
of  Mrs.  Jackson.  And  when  they  both  afterwards  became  mem¬ 
ber's  of  a  church,  it  was  the  natural  and  regular  result  of  their  early 
and  cherished  feelings.  He  was  gentle  in  his  house  and  alive  to  the 
tenderest  emotions — and  of  this  I  can  give  an  instance,  greatly  in 
contrast  with  his  supposed  character,  and  worth  more  than  a  long 
discourse  to  show  what  that  character  really  was.  I  arrived  at  his 
house  one  wet  chilly  evening  in  February,  and  came  upon  him  in 
the  twilight,  sitting  alone  before  the  fire,  a  lamb  and  a  child  between 
his  knees.  He  started  a  little,  called  a  servant  to  remove  the  two 
innocents  to  another  room,  and  explained  to  me  how  it  was.  The 
child  had  cried  because  the  lamb  was  out  in  the  cold  and  begged 
him  to  bring  it  in,  which  he  had  done,  to  please  the  child,  his 
adopted  son,  then  not  two  years  old.”  (Col.  Benton’s  “  Thirty  Years’ 
View,”  p.  737.) 

There  is  nothing  in  the  brave  old  man’s  whole  stirring  career 
more  characteristic  and  suggestive  than  this  incident. 


36  THE  PRICELESS  WORTH  OF  A  GOOD  NAME. 

found,  after  all,  in  those  moral  and  religious  princi¬ 
ples,  drawn  from  a  source  higher  and  purer  than 
this  world  ever  opened,  the  well-spring  of  the  Chris¬ 
tian  Scriptures.  Where  their  influence  enters  the 
mind,  there  is  light;  where  it  touches  the  heart,  it 
softens  down  its  natural  asperities,  making  it  humble, 
teachable,  gentle,  merciful,  humane,  imparting  ele¬ 
vation  to  its  views,  loftiness  and  directness  to  its 
aims,  and  investing  the  whole  character,  dignified 
and  adorned  by  Christian  sentiments,  with  robes  of 
comeliness  and  grace.  The  path  of  him  who  takes 
the  lamp  of  God,  to  lighten  and  guide  his  daily  way, 
is  the  path  of  the  just, — bright,  safe,  more  easy  and 
pleasant  still  as  the  goal  is  neared, — shining  more 
and  more  unto  the  perfect  day.  His  way,  on  the 
contrary,  is  hard  and  painful,  with  pitfalls,  snares, 
and  death,  impending  in  the  gloom  at  eveiy  step ; 
who  scorns  the  heavenly  light,  and  leans  for  guid¬ 
ance  upon  the  uncertain  fitful  rays  proceeding  from 
nature  or  the  wisdom  of  man.  Mr.  Adams  accepted 
the  aid  of  the  Scriptures,  revered  their  matchless  phi¬ 
losophy,  and  bowed  before  the  simple  majesty  of 
their  inculcations,  and  joyed  in  the  advantage  of 
their  path-finding  illumination.  Nor  need  the  or¬ 
thodox  believer  start  at  this  announcement,  or  shoot 
out  the  lip  in  doubt  or  derision,  when  it  is  said  that 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS. 


37 


Mr.  Adams  was  a  Unitarian  ;  as  tliongli  the  fact 
involved  a  necessary  impeachment  of  liis  sincerity, 
or  a  halting,  half-way  embracement  and  following  of 
the  truth  taught,  and  the  example  set,  by  the  Uaza- 
rene.  W e  are  very  much  the  creatures  of  education, 
habit,  and  circumstance.  USTot  in  a  few  isolated 
cases,  merely,  do  religious  opinions,  engrafted  upon 
the  understanding  and  heart  of  childhood,  become 
rooted  too  firmly  and  grow  too  thriftily  to  render  it 
easy,  if  indeed  possible,  to  change  their  after  direc¬ 
tion.  Have  we  not  seen — who  has  not  seen — the 
father  of  several  sons,  mould  them  after  the  plastic 
influence  of  his  own  sentiments  and  example,  uncon¬ 
sciously  to  them  or  even  to  himself,  so  that,  as  they 
reached  man’s  estate,  the  opinions  and  course  of  the 
children  with  respect  to  subjects,  political,  social, 
religious,  were  a  reflection  and  copy  of  those  held 
and  pursued  by  the  father.  This  is  so  common  a 
spectacle,  that  it  scarce  needs  remark.  Ho  im¬ 
pressions  can  be  deeper  or  more  ineffaceable  than 
those  early  religious  ones,  stamped  upon  the  mind 
by  a  father’s  counsels  and  course,  or  burnt  into  the 
heart,  as  it  were,  by  the  gentler  but  more  potential 
agency  of  a  mother’s  smiles,  tears,  entreaties,  prayers, 
her  soul-utterance  of  solicitude  and  yearning  for 
the  honor  and  well-being  of  a  beloved  child.  The 


38  THE  PRICELESS  WORTH  OF  A  GOOD  NAME. 

mind  of  the  strong  man,  tossed  by  the  tempests  of 
life  in  after  years,  and  almost  led  by  nnboly  solicita¬ 
tions  to  regard  faith  as  foolishness,  and  religion  as 
superstition,  often  strives  and  wrestles  in  vain  against 
the  influence  of  such  impressions,  keeping  it  di¬ 
rected  still  towards  the  right  and  true,  like  the 
needle  towards  the  pole,  in  spite  of  occasional  vibra¬ 
tions.  The  creed  of  Mr.  Adams  was  the  creed  of 
his  father.  It  was  the  creed  to  which  the  associa¬ 
tions  of  his  childhood  and  youth  were  grappled.  His 
manhood  rejected  not  the  pleasing  spell,  and  the 
faith  in  which  he  was  nurtured,  became  the  faith  in 
which  he  died. 

How,  though  we  reject  at  once,  and  decidedly 
and  under  all  circumstances,  the  faith  that  denies 
divinity  to  the  Saviour  of  men,  while  we  regard  the 
proper  Godhead  of  the  Christ  as  amongst  the  clearest 
propositions,  and  most  susceptible  too  of  demonstra¬ 
tion,  that  the  Scripture  offers  to  the  human  mind, 
we  are  not  forbidden  to  look  with  an  eye  that  beams 
mildness  and  forbearance,  upon  those  who  illustrate 
the  Christian  religion  in  their  lives,  but  conscien¬ 
tiously  differ  from  us  on  certain  points  of  speculative 
opinion  and  belief.  We  will  not  entrench  ourselves 
behind  the  narrow  bigotry  which  denies  Paradise  to 
all  who  view  the  Christian  scheme  with  mind  as 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS.  39 


candid  as  onr  own,  though  with  other  optics,  and 
from  a  somewhat  different  stand-point.  But  with 
that  large  charity  which  “  snffereth  long  and  is  kind,” 
we  may  at  least  hope  the  best  in  respect  to  such  as 
receive  the  word  of  God  as  a  divine  rule  of  faith  and 
practice,  profoundly  venerate  its  authority  and  teach¬ 
ings,  love  it,  and  strive  with  God’s  aid  to  walk  in 
its  light,  and  rest  for  salvation  on  the  published  gospel, 
sublime  merits,  and  finished  work  of  the  Crucified. 

That  Mr.  Adams  did  this,  there  is  abundant  testi¬ 
mony.  It  was  only  a  few  years  ago  that  his  voice 
was  uplifted  before  a  Bible  Society  in  Hew  York, 
advocating  the  divine  authorship,  the  grand  claims, 
the  pure  principles,  the  majestic  character  of  the 
Book  of  Life,  and  urging  upon  men,  if  they  would 
secure  peace  and  happiness,  here  and  hereafter,  the 
necessity  of  following  its  celestial  guidance.  The 
Scriptures  were  to  him  the  oracles  of  Infinite  Wis¬ 
dom  and  Infallible  Truth ;  and,  as  such,  the  unfailing 
source  of  refreshment,  light,  and  joy.  It  was  his  daily 
practice,  continued  through  years  of  life,  to  resort 
to  these  “wells  of  salvation,”  and  draw  from  them 
strengthening  draughts.  Writing  to  his  son  from  St. 
Petersburgh,  he  recounts  this  striking  experience : 
“  It  is  my  custom  to  read  four  or  five  chapters  from 
the  Bible  every  morning,  immediately  after  rising 


40  THE  PRICELESS  WORTH  OF  A  GOOD  NAME. 

from  my  bed.  It  employs  about  an  hour  of  my 
time,  and  seems  to  me  the  most  suitable  manner  of 
beginning  the  day.” 

Such  a  personal  experience  might  well  qualify  him 
for  writing  the  interesting  series  of  letters — since 
published  in  a  volume — to  his  son,  on  the  truth,  worth, 
and  claims  of  the  Holy  Book ;  and  setting  forth  the 
importance  of  daily  reading  and  exploring  it,  in  order 
to  form,  strengthen,  and  adorn  individual  character. 

In  reply  to  an  invitation  to  attend  the  anniversary 
of  the  American  Bible  Society,  in  1830,  he  gives 
utterance,  among  other  things,  to  such  evangelical 
sentiments  as  these  : — 

“  The  distribution  of  Bibles,  if  the  simplest,  is  not 
the  least  efficacious  of  the  means  of  extending  the 
blessings  of  the  Gospel  to  the  remotest  corners  of  the 
earth ;  for  the  Comforter  is  in  the  sacred  volume ; 
and  among  the  receivers  of  that  million  of  copies,  dis¬ 
tributed  by  the  society,  who  shall  number  the  multi¬ 
tudes  awakened  thereby,  with  good  will  to  man  in  their 
hearts,  and  with  the  song  of  the  Lamb  upon  their  lips  ? 

“  The  hope  of  a  Christian  is  inseparable  from  his 
faith.  "Whoever  believes  in  the  divine  inspiration  of 
the  Holy  Scriptures,  must  hope  that  the  religion  of 
Jesus  shall  prevail  throughout  the  earth.  Hover, 
since  the  foundation  of  the  world,  have  the  prospects 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS.  41 


of  mankind  been  more  encouraging  to  that  hope, 
than  they  appear  to  be  at  the  present  time.  And 
may  the  associated  distribution  of  the  Bible  proceed 
and  prosper,  till  the  Lord  shall  have  made  ‘  bare  his 
holy  arm  in  the  eyes  of  all  the  nations,  and  all  the 
ends  of  the  earth  shall  see  the  salvation  of  our  God.’  ” 

He  was  the  oldest  Vice-President  of  the  American 
Bible  Society.  And  called  to  preside  at  one  of  its 
meetings  held  at  the  Capitol  at  Washington,  in  1844, 
bore  this  decisive  testimony  in  favor  of  the  Bible : — • 
“  I  deem  myself  fortunate  in  having  the  opportunity 
at  this  stage  of  a  long  life,  drawing  to  a  close,  to  bear 
at  this  place,  the  Capitol  of  our  National  Union,  in 
the  hlall  of  Representatives  of  the  Horth  American 
people,  in  the  chair  of  the  presiding  officer  of  the 
Assembly  representing  the  whole  people,  the  personi¬ 
fication  of  the  great  and  mighty  nation,  to  bear  my 
solemn  testimonial  of  reverence  and  gratitude  to  that 
Book  of  Books,  the  Holy  Bible.” 

From  his  lofty  position  he  thus  rebuked  the  infi¬ 
delity  of  the  day,  and  proclaimed  that  his  own  intel¬ 
lect,  with  all  his  powers  and  influence,  bowed  before 
the  simple  grandeur  of  revealed  truth,  and  that  the 
Christian  Scriptures  are  the  only  foundation  of  the 
order,  prosperity,  and  happiness  of  states  and  indivi¬ 
duals.  Like  John  Hampden,  he  found  honor  and 


42  THE  PRICELESS  WORTH  OF  A  GOOD  NAME. 

profit  in  sitting  as  a  learner  at  the  Great  Teacher’s 
feet,  and  the  lessons  acquired  there  made  him  up¬ 
right,  wise,  and  true,  imparted  jnst  proportions  to  his 
character,  shaping  out  for  him  a  good  name  to  the 
coming  generations.  Nor  did  he  content  himself 
with  a  cold  assent  to  the  truth  of  revelation  as  a  fair 
and  wise  theory,  nor  with  a  bare  formal  advocacy  of 
its  claims.  He  did  more.  He  united  himself  to  the 
church  he  preferred;  and  according  to  his  under¬ 
standing  of  duty,  labored  by  example  and  word  to 
promote  the  spread  of  Christian  principles  and  the 
practice  of  the  Christian  charities.  We  may  there¬ 
fore  leave  him,  where  we  must  ourselves  be  left, 
when  our  mortal  hour  shall  have  passed,  in  the  hands 
of  Him  who  hath  pronounced  “  Blessed  are  the  mer¬ 
ciful,  for  they  shall  obtain  mercy” — adopting  in  his 
case,  as  others  may  adopt  in  ours,  the  sweet  and  im¬ 
pressive  words  of  the  noblest  elegy  in  our  language — • 

“No  further  seek  his  merits  to  disclose, 

Nor  draw  his  frailties  from  their  dread  abode  ; 

(There  they  alike  in  trembling  hope  repose) 

The  bosom  of  his  Father  and  his  God.” 


In  the  view  of  such  a  career  completed,  and  such 
a  name  and  fame  won,  what  remains  to  be  spoken  ? 
What  is  the  highest  genius  and  skill  ?  what  the  most 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  JOHN  QUINCY  ADAMS.  43 


successful  enterprise  devoted  for  years  and  years  te 
worldly  and  selfish  schemes  and  aggregations  ?  what 
the  vastest  hoards  that  ever  man  in  this  or  any 
country  called  his  own,  beside  the  measureless  value 
of  such  an  acquisition?  Mr.  Adams  had  riches, 
and  has  left  them  to  his  heirs ;  hut  what  would  these 
be  without  his  undying  renown,  based  upon  high 
moral  worth,  and  perpetuated  by  veneration  and 
gratitude  ?  They  would  give  him  no  distinction  above 
others,  dying  in  similar  circumstances.  They  would 
inscribe  no  enduring  tablet  to  his  memory,  either  on 
the  page  of  history  or  in  the  hearts  of  his  country¬ 
men.  It  would  have  been  said  that  a  rich  man  died, 
and  with  nothing  more  to  be  urged  in  his  behalf,  his 
name  would  soon  perish  from  the  earth.  But  his 
honored  name  now  lives,  and  will  live,  embalmed  in 
the  brightening  annals  of  our  history,  whose  office  is  to 
record  and  preserve  the  heroic  deeds  of  lives  most  sin¬ 
gly  devoted  to  the  public  service  and  the  general  weal ; 
and  so  it  would  live,  had  his  wealth,  when  he  died,  not 
been  sufficient  to  buy  the  coffin  in  which  he  sleeps. 
His  name  is  a  monument  that  will  outlast  the  granite, 
and  a  legacy  to  children’s  children,  to  his  country  and 
humankind,  whose  price  scorns  the  aid  of  figures  to 
set  forth,  and  will  not  diminish  with  the  passing  years. 

And  he  too,  with  all  his  fame  and  all  his  honors,  is 


44  THE  PRICELESS  WORTH  OF  A  GOOD  NAME. 

now  gathered  to  his  fathers.  These  could  not  save 
him  from  the  grave.  Nature  mnst  have  its  course. 
“  The  mighty  man,  and  the  man  of  war,  the  judge 
and  the  prophet,  and  the  prudent  and  the  ancient, 
the  honorable  man  and  the  counsellor,  and  the  cun¬ 
ning  artificer  and  the  eloquent  orator”  fall  equally 
before  the  indiscriminating  scythe  which  mows  down 
all  with  its  remorseless  sweep.  In  the  present  case, 
not  the  tender  plant,  nor  the  green  grain,  nor  the 
branch  white  with  the  blossom-promise  of  the  au¬ 
tumn  has  been  cut  down,  but  the  stalk  of  corn, 
nodding  with  its  golden  fruitage  u  fully  ripe  in  its 
season.”  And  what  is  replete  with  peculiar  and 
pensive  interest  is  the  fact,  that  in  this  death,  nei¬ 
ther  unlooked  for  nor  too  soon,  another  of  the  few 
remaining  links  which  unite  the  revolutionary  period 
to  our  own  has  been  sundered.  Thus,  one  by  one, 
the  tomb  is  garnering  the  venerable  forms  of  those 
whose  eyes  looked  upon  the  struggle  which  issued  in 
our  national  freedom.  Soon  the  last  link  of  this  kind 
will  be  broken,  and  we  shall  stand,  and  live,  and  act 
among  a  generation  born  after  the  revolution.  God 
grant  that  when  the  fathers  of  illustrious  memory 
who  lived  in  this  great  period  shall  all  slumber  in  the 
dust,  the  mantle  of  their  virtues  may  for  ever  rest  on 
their  posterity. 


THE  INCOMPARABLENESS  OF  TIIE  HOLY 

SCRIPTURES. 


(Before  the  Ulster  Co.  Bible  Society  at  Kingston,  Feb.  1851.) 

“For  I  testify  unto  every  man  that  heareth  the  words  of  the 
prophecy  of  this  book,  if  any  man  shall  add  unto  these  things,  God 
shall  add  unto  him  the  plagues  that  are  written  in  this  book ;  and 
if  any  man  shall  take  away  from  the  words  of  the  book  of  this 
prophecy,  God  shall  take  away  his  part  out  of  the  book  of  life,  and 
out  of  the  holy  city,  and  from  the  things  which  are  written  in  this 
book.”  Rev.  xxii.  18,  19. 

We  have  in  this  passage  a  distinctly  uttered  inter¬ 
dict,  sanctioned  by  a  portentous  penalty,  against  the 
addition  to  or  subtraction  from  the  words  of  the 
prophecy  of  this  book.  What  book,  will  it  be  asked  ? 
That  book  which  the  inspired  revelator  wrote  in  the 
lonely  Patnios  of  his  exile,  and  in  which  the  words 
of  the  prohibition  and  the  penalty  are  recorded  ? 
Yes  ;  though  not  that  book  alone,  which  is  only  a 
part  of  the  inspired  volume,  but  every  book,  preced¬ 
ing  it  and  associated  with  it,  in  the  celestial  record, 
springing  from  the  same  source,  written  by  the  same 
unerring  pen,  bearing  the  impress  of  the  same  Inli- 


46  THE  mCOMPARABLENESS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES. 


nite  Mind,  and  coming  to  man  with  the  same  high 
testimonials  to  authenticate  its  character  and  claims. 
Every  hook,  forming  like  the  Apocalypse  a  part  of 
the  law  and  the  testimony,  whether  written  at  the 
Spirit’s  guidance  by  patriarch  or  seer,  by  king  or 
ruler,  by  prophet,  or  evangelist,  or  apostle,  is  fairly 
comprehended  within  the  words  of  the  prohibition 
before  us.  All  Scripture  is  given  by  inspiration  of 
God.  No  prophecy  of  Scripture ,  in  any  part  of  the 
blessed  volume,  is  of  any  private  invention ,  is  the 
product  of  man’s  ingenuity  or  cunning  craft,  or  far- 
reaching  sagacity,  but  holy  men  of  God  spake  as 
they  were  moved  by  the  Holy  Ghost. 

The  Scriptures,  therefore,  in  their  essence  and  in¬ 
tegrity,  owe  nothing  to  man’s  faculty  of  contriving 
or  power  of  executing.  Man  has  not  laid  a  single 
stone  of  the  broad  foundation  on  which  the  blessed 
volume  rests.  Man  has  not  put  a  single  beam,  or 
rafter,  or  support  of  any  kind,  in  the  comely  edifice 
which  rests  on  this  foundation,  nor  added  a  solitary 
outward  decoration.  It  is  the  Lord’s  work,  from 
foundation  to  topmost  stone,  and  marvellous  in  our 
eyes.  And  being  such,  the  work  is  necessarily  not 
defective  or  different  materially  from  what  He  de¬ 
signed  and  had '  the  power  to  make  it.  It  is  not 
half  finished  nor  badly  finished,  but  finished  in  all 


THE  INCOMP  ARABLENESS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES.  47 


its  parts  perfectly  and  symmetrically,  the  whole 
body  being/  fitly  joined  together  and  compacted  by 
that  which  every  joint  snpplieth.  Completed  thus-, 
there  is  room  for  no  earth-furnished  additions.  God 
might  add,  hut  man  cannot.  He  has  given  it  to  the 
world  in  the  state  in  which  the  world  itself,  with 
man  to  dwell  upon  it,  came  forth  from  His  own 
hands — -very  good,  without  deformity,  or  malforma¬ 
tion,  or  vitiating  imperfection- — not  susceptible  of 
essential  improvement,  or  better  adaptation  to  the 
grand  purposes  for  which  it  was  designed,  by  adding 
anything  or  taking  away  anything — but  sure  to  find 
damage  and  derangement  from  any  presumptuous 
and  foolhardy  tinkering  of  man. 

This,  then,  is  the  book  of  which  such  things  may 
be  safely  and  soberly  spoken.  The  book  composed 
of  many  books ;  the  book  of  all  books,  scorning  the 
paltry  intellect  of  man  that  would  make  it  better, 
and  brooking  no  profane  hand  of  mortal  to  inter¬ 
meddle  with  it,  or  take  a  tittle  from  the  consecrated 
treasures  of  its  wisdom  and  its  love  ;  the  book  which 
God  Almighty,  after  filling  its  pages  with  whatever 
he  lias  seen  fit  to  communicate  to  the  species,  has 
closed  and  sealed  with  His  own  hand  and  signet, 
and  declared  with  all  the  authority  of  the  Power 
who  grasps  the  thunders  of  destruction,  that  no  man 


48  THE  INCOMP A.R  ABLENES  S  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES. 


shall  add  to  or  take  from  tlie  holy  record,  without 
exposure  to  the  vengeance  of  Him,  before  whom 
conspiring  kings,  rebellious  rulers,  and  raging  hea¬ 
then,  perish  from  the  way  when  His  wrath  is  kindled 
but  a  little. 

A  book  such  as  this,  so  matured  and  finished,  its 
integrity  so  hedged  round  by  solemn  and  imposing 
sanctions,  must  have  bold  characteristic  features  to 
distinguish  it  from  every  other ;  must  have  a  mis¬ 
sion  worthy  of  its  origin,  and  vindicate  by  its  con¬ 
tents  the  matchless  wisdom  of  its  Author,  and  the 
amazing  love  that  sent  it  forth  on  its  sublime  errand. 
All  this  it  demonstrably  has,  as  may  be  seen  if  it  be 
asked  specifically  what  this  marvellous  book  is ,  and 
whence  derived  f 

The  answer  simply  and  briefly  is,  it  is  a  revelation 
which  God  has  made  to  man  for  the  benefit  of  man  ; 
a  revelation  of  that  which  nature  could  not  teach, 
nor  the  unaided  powers  of  the  human  intellect  grasp  ; 
necessary  to  man,  therefore,  to  enable  him  to  com¬ 
prehend  God,  his  attributes,  his  claims,  his  relation  to 
the  universe  ;  his  relation  to  man  especially,  the  lord  of 
this  fallen  world,  made  ujpright  and  but  a  little  lower 
than  the  angels ,  but  apostate  now,  and  a  rebel  against 
his  Maker,  and  exposed  as  such  to  a  rebebs  retribu¬ 
tion  on  account  of  holy  laws  violated,  and  surpassing 


THE  mCOMP ARABLENESS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES.  49 


goodness  and  love  spurned;  a  revelation,  putting 
earth  in  communication  with  heaven,  man  with  God, 
and  disclosing  the  plans  and  process  by  which  this 
communication  may  result  in  the  raising  up  of  the 
fallen,  the  recovery  of  the  lost,  the  restoration  to  the 
race  of  the  Divine  favor,  and  the  priceless  blessings 
consequent  upon  it ;  the  soul’s  purification,  the  exer¬ 
cise  of  the  Christian  humanities,  the  triumph  of  truth 
and  religion,  the  victory  over  death,  and  a  blessed 
immortality ! 

To  issue  such  a  revelation  is  perfectly  practicable. 
Dor  He  that  sitteth  in  the  heavens  laughs  at  what 
man  counts  impossibilities ;  and  to  announce  his  will 
to  man,  and  the  terms  on  which  fallen  transgressors 
may  be  restored  to  his  favor,  were  at  least  as  easy  as 
to  fix  yonder  sun  upon  his  throne  of  light,  or  lay  the 
foundations  of  this  littler  ball  on  which  we  tread,  or 
heave  the  everlasting  mountains  towards  the  clouds. 
And  if  obviously  practicable  to  reveal  himself  to 
man,  there  is  no  antecedent  improbability  against 
his  doing  so.  If  man  had  remained  a  sinless  crea¬ 
ture  through  all  his  generations,  as  his  first  father 
before  his  fall,  would  it  be  improbable  that  God 
would  continue  to  visit  him  and  hold  intercourse 
with  him,  and  show  himself  in  the  endearing  aspects 
of  Father,  Protector,  and  Friend,  opening,  by  means 

3 


50  THE  INCOMPARABLENESS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES. 


of  daily  converse  and  intercommunion,  precious  foun¬ 
tains  of  refreshment  and  joy?  On  the  contrary,  it 
would  have  been  a  most  strange  and  unnatural  thing, 
for  the  creature,  having  so  largely  experienced  the 
divine  benignity,  to  have  been  left  to  himself  after 
his  creation — a  being  thrown  upon  a  world,  cheer¬ 
less  though  never  so  beautiful,  without  higher  com¬ 
panionship  than  the  irrational  tribes,  or  even  his  own 
species ;  a  helpless  child,  bewailing  in  vain  the  ab¬ 
sence  of  the  Father’s  smiles  and  society,  or  those  of 
holy  angels  sent  forth  to  assure  the  child  of  the  Fa¬ 
ther’s  love,  and  unfold  the  Father’s  counsels  for  the 
child’s  guidance,  instruction,  and  comfort.  And  if 
God  would  most  probably  visit  the  sinless  and  happy 
thus,  and  reveal  himself  as  a  God  of  love,  would  he 
be  likely  to  cast  forth  the  sinful  and  wretched  upon 
a  thistle-bearing  world,  with  no  kind  token  of  his 
fatherly  recognition,  no  evidence  of  his  guardian 
care,  no  condescending  visitations  of  his  mercy,  no 
knowledge  or  intimation  of  the  great  purposes  or 
principles  of  his  moral  economy  ? 

The  probabilities  of  visiting  fallen  man,  appear  to 
us,  therefore,  to  be  of  the  strongest.  Indeed  we  find 
it  hard  to  conceive  the  contrary,  without  picturing 
the  Deity  as  a  stem  and  remorseless  Sovereign,  not  to 
be  touched  by  the  woes  and  helpless  degradation  of 


THE  INCOMPAR ABLENESS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES.  51 


his  sorrow-smitten  creatures.  Were  He  sucli  a 
Being,  without  tenderness  and  pity,  man  who  had 
offended  Him,  might  have  been  left  without  light, 
and  without  any  mitigation  of  the  circumstances  of 
his  awful  condition. 

But  God  is  benevolent,  and  this  nature  teaches  ns, 
in  the  genial  sunshine,  the  sweet  and  holy  light,  the 
gentle  dews,  the  soft  showers,  the  balmy  breezes,  the 
perfumes  that  breathe,  the  sights  which  are  seen, 
and  the  harmonies  which  make  melody  around  us. 
And  is  it  probable  that  this  benevolent  and  merciful 
Lord  would  leave  his  fallen,  wretched,  needy,  weeping 
child,  to  grope  his  dark  way  through  a  world  cursed 
through  one  man’s  disobedience ;  and  then,  after 
a  weary  life  of  darkness  and  woe  here,  plunge  him 
into  thicker  darkness,  and  more  hopeless  misery  here¬ 
after?  Is  it  probable  that  God,  who  mercifully  hears 
the  young  ravens’  plaintive  cries,  would  he  for  ever 
deaf  to  the  groanings  of  a  sin-burdened  soul,  crying, 
“  0 A,  that  I  knew  where  I  might  find  him ,  that  I 
might  com  e  even  to  his  seat.  I  would  order  my  cause 
before  him ,  and  fill  my  mouth  with  arguments  f”  that 
He  would  persist  in  hiding  himself  behind  impenetra¬ 
ble  clouds,  and  send  no  ray  of  light,  no  beam  of 
mercy,  to  show  man  how  he  might  he  justified  and 
find  the  path  of  deliverance  and  salvation  ? 


52  THE  INCOMPARABLENESS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES. 


It  is  not  probable,  but  on  tlie  other  hand  it  is  every 
way  probable  that  God  would  reveal  himself,  his 
attributes,  his  laws,  his  will,  the  plans  of  his  love, 
the  fixed  purposes  of  his  compassionate  heart.  And 
the  probability,  we  claim,  has  become  certainty  by 
the  fact.  God  has  revealed  himself — has  proclaimed 
his  will,  has  shown  what  He  is,  what  lie  claims,  and 
what  repentant  sinners  may  hope,  and  the  stubbornly 
defiant  are  to  expect  from  Him.  He  has  given  us 
the  lively  oracles  of  His  Truth ;  where  man  may 
learn  mysteries  which,  but  for  this,  had  remained  un¬ 
known  and  unfathomable  still.  He  has  placed  in  our 
hands  the  imperishable  records — opening  to  us  the 
counsels  and  plans  of  the  Godhead — in  their  results 
at  least ;  records  abounding  with  the  most  wonderful 
and  deeply  interesting  information  and  knowledge, 
upon  matters  by  far  the  most  important  that  can 
occupy  the  mind  of  man.  The  heaven-given  book 
which  contains  these  records,  becomes,  from  its  very 
nature  and  design,  to  the  individual  and  to  the  race, 
a  book  of  infinite  importance — bearing  the  image  and 
superscription  of  the  glorious  Lord  God  on  every 
page — coming  to  us,  thus,  with  the  highest  possible 
authority — revealing  truths  of  the  highest  possible 
magnitude — proposing  objects  of  the  highest  possible 
grandeur,  and  involving,  in  the  embracement  or  rejec- 


THE  INCOHP  ARABLENESS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES.  53 


tion  of  them,  consequences  so  vast,  that  all  worldly 
losses  or  acquisitions  are,  when  brought  into  compari¬ 
son,  hut  as  the  impalpable  dust  in  the  balances. 

The  inquiry  next  naturally  arises —  Wherein  consist 
the  importance  and  value  of  this  Book,  so  revealed  to 
man ,  and  finished  so,  that  no  impious  hand  dare  take 
from  or  add  to  its  perfected  pages  f 

As  a  book  of  cosmogony — setting  forth  how  the 
worlds  have  been  produced — its  value  transcends  that 
of  all  other  hooks.  IIow  vague,  discordant,  absurd, 
and  preposterous,  are  the  various  uninspired  accounts 
of  the  world’s  creation !  AY e  need  not  refer  to  them, 
for  I  would  not  move  your  mirth  with  detailing  the 
ridiculous  phantasies  of  heathenish  brains.  But  the 
account  we  find  of  the  world’s  creation  as  God’s  Spirit 
dictated  it,  is  simple,  concise,  and  plain.  In  the 
beginning  God  created  the  heaven  and  the  ea/rth. 
The  existence  of  one  only  Lord  is  taken  as  an  axiom. 
Ho  words  are  used  to  prove  it.  Ho  vain  parade  of 
language  is  employed  to  illustrate  or  enforce  it.  And 
this  great  Creator  and  ever  existent  Lord,  the  Maker 
and  Father  of  all,  standing  forth  as  such,  in  the  very 
first  sentence  of  this  world’s  written  history,  spake 
the  universe  into  being  by  a  wTord  of  his  Omnipotence, 
lie  said,  in  respect  to  this  ball  which  is  become  our 
habitation,  “  let  the  earth  be,”  and  the  earth  was.  It 


54  THE  INCOMPARABLENESS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES. 


matters  nothing  whether  the  fiat  went  forth  six 
thousand  or  six  hundred  thousand  years  ago.  And 
a  sceptical  geology  is  welcome  to  all  the  trophies 
it  has  earned  or  can  earn,  in  the  attempt  to  show 
inconsistency  between  the  Mosaic  account  of  the 
creation,  and  the  deductions  of  geologic  science. 
The  Bible  should  never  be  held  answerable  for 
man’s  crude  deductions,  springing  often  from  pre¬ 
carious  premises  or  ambiguous  and  misty  theories. 
We  should  respect  the  labors,  and  encourage  the  in¬ 
vestigations  of  the  true  science,  knowing  that  truth 
in  general  must  be  thus  promoted,  and  the  highest 
truth  in  particular,  certainly  not  retarded  or  its  lustre 
dimmed.  Truth  from  a  given  source  is  not  antago¬ 
nistic  to  truth  from  whatever  source,  for  truth  is  one 
and  ever  harmonious  with  itself.  And  though 
geology,  in  its  shifting  progress,  has  struck  from  time 
to  time,  what  was  thought  at  the  moment  to  be  vig¬ 
orous  blows  against  the  harmony  of  the  Scriptural 
records,  the  effect  were  sure  to  be,  to  provoke  more 
vigorous  blows  in  return,  warding  off  the  threatened 
harm,  and  disabling  the  arm  that  struck  for  similar 
attempts.  False  science  has  ever  found  a  counter¬ 
poise  in  the  true,  which,  modest,  reverent,  patient, 
resolute,  and  unyielding,  has  disentangled  the  skein 
of  human  sophistries,  brought  order  out  of  chaos, 


THE  INCOMPARABLENESS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES.  55 


bidding  tliose  of  little  faitli,  who  were  trembling  for 
the  safety  of  the  ark  of  God,  to  dismiss  their  fears, 
and  believe  henceforth  that  God  is  really  mightier 
than  man.  And  thus  the  doctrine  of  “  development 
from  lower  to  higher,”  though  not  doing  for  some  of 
its  advocates  exactly  what  they  designed  and  hoped 
for,  has  at  least  “  developed”  more  proofs,  accumu¬ 
lating  through  all  the  ages  past,  of  the  consistency 
and  credibility  of  the  Holy  Book.  And  so  we  may 
repeat  safely,  that  the  world  sprang  from  creative 
power  in  the  beginning.  It  was  when  God  willed  it. 
It  was  as  God  willed  it.  His  might  brought  light 
out  of  darkness,  harmony  out  of  confusion.  His 
hand  placed  the  Sun  in  heaven  to  rule  the  day,  and 
fixed  tiie  moon  where  she  might  shine  by  night,  and 
confined  the  raging  ocean  billows  to  their  bounds — • 
and  upheaved  the  tall  mountains  towards  the  clouds — - 
and  spread  abroad  the  valleys  and  the  plains — and 
covered  them  with  various  forms  of  animal  and  vege¬ 
table  life.  It  is  all  God  Almighty’s  work,  and  the 
record  is  found  in  his  own  Book.  The  earth  is,  be¬ 
cause  God  made  it,  and  all  the  wonders  of  its  wonder¬ 
ful  natural  economy  are  to  be  referred  to  him  alone. 

The  history  of  man  is  another  element  of  surpass - 
ing  importance  in  the  Booh  which  God  has  given. 

We  have  many  histories  in  various  languages, 


56  THE  mCOMPARAELENESS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES. 


which  treat  of  the  origin  of  nations,  of  man,  his 
achievements  and  his  character,  whether  good  or  evil. 
We  have  profane  records  which  trace  hack  the  his¬ 
tory  and  exploits  of  man  to  a  period  of  antiquity 
comparatively  remote.  The  most  ancient  and  reli¬ 
able  records  are  usually  the  most  valuable,  such  as 
the  histories  of  Herodotus,  of  Thucydides,  of  Jose¬ 
phus — colored,  and  even  fanciful  as  parts  of  these 
undoubtedly  are — and  some  others  of  kindred  worth. 
But  what  records  of  any  nation  approach  those  of 
the  TIoly  Scriptures  in  point  of  antiquity?  They 
tell  us  not  only  of  the  origin  of  nations,  but  of 
the  origin  of  man.  They  show  ns  that  the  whole 
human  race  has  sprung  from  a  single  pair.  There 
is  no  preposterous  absurdity  in  Scripture  like  that 
found  in  other  books  which  profess  to  account  for  the 
origin  of  mankind.  Ho  nation  is  said  to  have  sprung 
from  a  cricket  or  grasshopper,  or  from  an  oak,  mush¬ 
room,  or  dragon’s  tooth ;  but  man  was  first  created  by 
Omnipotent  power  out  of  the  dust  of  the  ground, 
and  God  breathed  into  his  nostrils  the  breath  of  life , 
and  man  became  a  living  soul.  In  process  of  time 
the  race  increased  and  multiplied  upon  the  earth, 
and  when  their  guilt  grew  rampant  and  heaven-defy¬ 
ing,  God  sent  upon  them  those  devouring,  remorse¬ 
less  floods,  which  no  cries  of  mortal  agony  could 


THE  IN  COMP  AR  ABLENE  S  S  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES.  57 


appease,  the  traces  of  whose  presence  and  prevailing 
energy  are  found  among  tribes  the  least  visited  by 
the  light  of  the  Scripture  Sun. 

A  single  family  survived,  that  the  race  should  not 
become  extinct.  The  earth  wras  to  he  peopled  a 
second  time  by  the  family  of  Noah.  Not  only  have 
we  in  the  Divine  Word  the  record  of  this  signal 
preservation,  we  have  also  the  record  of  the  species 
as  thus  perpetuated.  If  the  heedless  eye  glance 
over  the  tenth  chapter  of  Genesis,  it  lights  on  what 
may  seem  to  it  a  dull  and  meaningless  list  of 
Scripture  names,  a  genealogical  table,  tough  and 
inexplicable,  if  not  worthless.  It  is  a  record,  in  fact, 
of  priceless  value.  It  furnishes  information  for  which 
all  profane  antiquity  could  provide  no  substitute  nor 
equivalent.  It  sets  forth  no  vague  hypothesis  to 
account  for  facts — inexplicable  without  the  Bible — 
in  the  condition  of  various  peoples,  but  gives  us  a 
tangible  and  coherent  narrative,  with  truth  stamped 
upon  the  face  of  it,  of  the  generations  issuing  from 
the  sons  of  Noah.  Among  the  posterity  of  these 
sons,  we  find  the  names  of  Madai,  and  Javan,  and 
Tiras,  and  Canaan,  and  Asshur,  and  Elam,  and  Lud, 
and  no  critical  sagacity  is  necessary  to  identify  these 
patriarchs  as  the  originals  of  the  Medes,  the  Ionians, 
Thracians,  Assyrians,  Lydians.  Tims  we  are  directly 

3* 


58  TIIE  INCOMPAEABLENESS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCKIPTUEES. 


pointed  to  tlie  sources  whence  have  flowed  out  sub¬ 
sequently  the  widening  streams  of  great  nations. 
These  streams  are  traceable  as  they  roll  downwards, 
parting  ever  and  anon  into  other  branches,  which  are 
occasionally  found  to  expand  and  deepen  into  a  Missis¬ 
sippi’s  hulk  and  importance,  resembling,  however,  the 
father  of  waters  in  grandeur  and  impetuosity,  rather 
than  in  unexhausted  resources  and  changeless  strength. 

Without  the  heavenly  oracles  the  sources  of  nations 
would  have  remained,  in  spite  of  venturesome  investi¬ 
gations,  shrouded  in  ISTile-source-like  mystery.  The 
study  of  races,  often  perplexing  at  best,  the  philoso¬ 
phy  of  their  history  and  strange  subdivisions,  would 
be  ever  puzzling  and  unsatisfactory.  Yague  con- 
j  ecture  would  take  the  place  of  certainty,  and  to  him 
who  longed  and  asked  for  facts,  would  be  given  in 
reply,  airy  fancies.  As  a  book,  therefore,  whence 
reliable  knowledge  may  be  drawn  regarding  the 
earliest  peoples,  and  the  germs  out  of  which  they 
sprang,  the  Bible  occupies,  and  must  ever  occupy  a 
place  which  no  uninspired  book  can  fill. 

Its  value ,  moreover ,  consists  in  the  displays  it  gives 
us  of  Deity ,  the  great  Lord  God ,  Father  and  Maher 
of  all. 

We  have  spoken  of  the  announcement  made  in  the 
first  verse  of  the  Bible,  of  God’s  existence,  unity,  and 


THE  INCOMPARABLENESS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES.  59 


sovereign  power,  an  announcement  made  without 
qualification,  or  preliminary  statement,  or  argument, 
or  explanation  of  any  sort.  God  made  all  things  in 
the  beginning — the  great  I  AM- — without  beginning 
of  days  or  end  of  years — the  Alpha  and  the  Omega 
• — the  uncaused  cause  of  all  things.  And  this  truth, 
so  boldly  announced,  so  inflexibly  challenging  our 
assent,  is  illustrated  with  great  fulness  and  distinct¬ 
ness  as  we  advance  in  the  blessed  volume. 

What  representations  are  made  of  the  Lord  Jehovah 
on  the  luminous  pages  of  his  own  word  ?  Is  he  a 
Saturn  or  Jupiter  of  the  heathen  mythology — a 
Hindoo  Brahma,  or  Yishnu — an  Egyptian  Apis  or 
Anubis — a  Canaanitish  Dagon  or  Moloch  ?*  But  to 

*  Whatever  subject  the  “  Paradise  Lost”  undertakes  to  treat,  is 
straight  invested  with  dignity  and  charming  grace,  and  illustrated 
with  a  fulness  and  richness,  betraying  the  matchless  wealth  and 
resources  of  the  author’s  intellect.  Even  the  common-places  of 
geography,  are  transformed  by  his  touch  into  fascinating  pictures.  It 
is  a  fine  conceit,  and  exquisitely  wrought  out,  to  give  the  chiefs  of 
the  revolted  angels  in  hell,  names  derived  from  famous  heathen  gods, 
whose  characteristics  they  bore,  and  whom,  with  their  besotted 
worship,  Messiah  was  to  destroy.  A  similar  thought  pervades  the 
majestic  “  Christmas  Hymn,”  as  in  these  stanzas: — 

“Peor  and  Baalim 
Forsake  their  temples  dim, 

With  that  twice-battered  god  of  Palestine ; 

And  mooned  Ashtaroth, 


60  THE  INCOMP  ARABLENESS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES. 


whom  will  men  liken  God ,  and  who  among  the  gods 
of  the  nations  is  worthy  of  comparison  with  the 
great  God  of  the  Sacred  Scriptures?  He  is  no 
image  of  gold  or  brass — no  grotesque  or  frightful 
piece  of  statuary  carved  with  hands — no  hideous 
monster  shaped  by  the  imagination — no  likeness  of 
anything  that  man’s  fancy  may  picture  in  heaven  or 
earth,  or  sea,  or  hell — but  a  Spirit  invisible,  vast, 
incomprehensible,  pure,  the  self-existing  Lord,  from 
eternity  unchangeable,  the  maker  of  all  things,  the 
upholder  of  all  things,  the  disposer  of  all  things — 
Omniscient,  searching  the  deepest  depths  of  what  to 
us  is  futurity,  and  dragging  forth  to  the  light  the 
most  secret  and  impalpable  purposes  and  thoughts  of 
human  hearts — Omnipresent,  pervading  all  space, 
every  part  of  his  broad  domains  by  his  intelligence 
and  energy,  so  that  should  a  creature  fly  to  heaven 
God  is  there  ;  should  it  dive  down  to  hell  he  is  also 

Heaven’s  queen  and  mother  both, 

Now  sits  not  girt  with  taper’s  holy  shine ; 

The  Libyc  Hammon  shrinks  his  horn, 

In  vain  the  Tyrian  maids  their  wounded  Thammuz  mourn. 

And  sullen  Moloch,  fled, 

Hath  left  in  shadows  dread, 

His  burning  idol  *  *  * 
********* 

The  brutish  gods  of  Nile  as  fast 

Isis  and  Orus,  and  the  dog  Anubis,  haste.” 


THE  INCOMPARABLENESS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES.  (31 


there ;  should  it  take  the  wings  of  the  morning  and 
seek  the  uttermost  lands,  or  the  thickest  darkness  for 
concealment,  all  would  he  equally  vain.  His  Provi¬ 
dence,  too,  is  ever  exerted,  and  takes  in  all  things,  from 
the  chirping  sparrow  and  the  hungry  young  lions,  to 
the  slave  groaning  in  chains,  or  the  outcast  beggar 
sighing  amid  his  penury  and  rags.  He  dwelleth  in 
light  inaccessible  and  full  of  glory,  and  has  the  ele¬ 
ments,  air,  earth,  water,  fire,  as  well  as  holy  angels 
for  his  ministers.  He  is  infinite  in  justice,  truth, 
mercy,  goodness,  wisdom,  and  power ;  and  though 
the  heaven  of  heavens  cannot  contain  him,  he  deigns 
to  dwell  with  men  in  their  lowly  habitations,  com¬ 
forting  and  blessing  the  righteous,  and  pouring  his 
displeasure  and  wrath  only  against  the  transgressors 
of  his  laws. 

These,  in  short,  are  among  the  representations 
which  the  Bible  makes  of  God.  He  is  set  before  us 
invested  with  every  conceivable  perfection,  shedding 
forth  from  every  glorious  attribute  the  radiance  of 
the  infinite  Godhead,  worthy  of  all  honor,  and  of  the 
adoration  of  all  hearts — the  Great  Jehovah,  above  all 
and  over  all,  blessed  for  evermore. 

And  not  only  is  the  Great  Jehovah  unfolded  in 
his  perfections  in  the  Scriptures ,  hut  man  in  his  char 
racter  and  relations  to  God. 


62  THE  INCOMPAEABLENESS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES. 


If  we  learn  man’s  origin  and  primitive  condition 
in  tlie  Scriptures,  we  learn  there  also  liis  wretched 
fall.  He  no  longer  sustains  to  his  maker  the  cha¬ 
racter  of  a  sinless  and  gentle  child.  The  crown  has 
fallen  from  his  head.  He  has  become  a  rebel  and  an 
enemy,  and  the  character  of  one  man  is  the  character 
of  all  the  race.  Death  has  passed  upon  all  men,  for 
that  all  have  sinned.  The  posterity  inherit  the 
depraved  dispositions  of  a  guilty  parent,  and  on 
every  side,  in  every  individual,  are  seen  the  fruits 
and  evidences  of  original  corruption.  In  what  book 
but  the  Holy  Scriptures  is  the  phenomenon  of  uni¬ 
versal  depravity  stated  and  explained  ?  The  phe¬ 
nomenon,  indeed,  of  sin  existing  in  this  world  at  all 
under  the  government  of  a  perfectly  holy  God,  is 
one  that  no  human  powers  can  explain.  We  cannot 
reconcile  the  fact  with  God’s  purity  and  sovereign 
power,  but  the  mysterious  fact  is  clearly  stated, 
though  surpassing  our  powers  to  resolve,  and  no¬ 
where  else  is  it  stated  but  in  the  lively  oracles  of 
God.  Man  was  innocent,  man  was  placed  in  a  state 
of  probation,  man  was  tempted,  man  yielded  in  an 
evil  hour  and  fell,  and  oh !  disastrously  great  was 
that  fall,  bringing  the  curse,  death,  and  all  mortal 
woes  and  miseries  in  its  train. 

But  man’s  apostasy  is  not  only  set  forth  in  Scrip- 


THE  INC 0MP  AEABLENES  S  OF  THE  HOLT  SCEIPTUEES.  G3 


ture,  liis  recovery  is  also  unfolded.  Not  only  the 
disease  of  his  nature,  but  the  remedy  to  remove 
it.  Is  there  no  balm  in  Gilead ,  and  no  physician 
there  f  Yes !  in  God’s  holy  volume  both  may  be 
found.  The  first  Adam  wrought  our  ruin,  the  second 
Adam  has  brought  our  recovery.  AYe  died  in  the 
one,  in  the  other  we  live.  Through  the  one,  Para¬ 
dise  was  lost;  through  the  other,  Paradise  may  be 
regained.  Look  at  the  pages  of  the  Old  Testament. 
See  how  luminous  they  are  with  the  name  of  Im- 
manuel-Messiah.  From  the  first  promise  made  to 
the  guilty  parents  who  cowered  beneath  the  Divine 
frown  which  their  rebellion  provoked,  down  to  the 
sweet  assurances  of  the  seraphic  Malachi,  how  do 
the  rays  of  evangelic  light  become  at  each  advance 
more  frequent  and  intense,  until  they  concentrate  in 
him  sought  after  from  afar  and  diligently  by  star- 
led  Magi,  who,  when  they  found  him,  poured  out 
adoringly  before  him  with  their  rapturous  praises, 
their  gold ,  frankincense ,  and  myrrh.  Abraham 
rejoiced  to  see  Chrisfs  day ,  and  seeing  it  was  glad , 
and  other  saints  of  the  patriarchal  age  partaking  a 
-  like  precious  faith,  partook  also  the  same  lively  j  oy. 
The  “  lion  of  the  tribe  of  Judah”  that  Jacob  saw, 
the  “  star”  pointed  out  by  Balaam — the  prophet 
greater  than  Moses  to  arise — the  marked  and  lofty 


64  THE  INCOMPARABLENESS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES. 


utterances  of  David,  Isaiali,  Daniel,  and  the  rest  of 
the  evangelic  brotherhood  of  seers ;  the  blood  that 
drenched  the  altars  of  Jewish  sacrifice ;  the  types, 
shadows,  and  ceremonies  of  the  law,  all  point  to  him, 
and  centre  in  him,  who  was  by  the  shedding  of  his 
precious  blood  to  magnify  God’s  law,  and  make  it 
honorable,  and  bring  in  everlasting  righteousness, 
and  secure  peace  and  pardon  for  the  guilty. 

And  now  the  great  question,  “  how  shall  man  be 
just  with  God”  is  resolved.  The  Scriptures  show 
how  the  vilest  may  find  mercy.  Christ  who  knew  no 
sin  hath  become  sin  for  us ,  and  whosoever  believeth 
in  him  shall  have  eternal  life ,  but  whosoever  believeth 
not  shall  not  see  life ,  but  the  wrath  of  God  abideth  on 
him.  And  thus,  by  disclosing  and  furnishing  the 
means  of  securing  salvation  from  the  curse  and  death, 
does  the  Word  of  God  commend  itself  as  the  most 
priceless  of  records — a  book  valuable  and  important 
beyond  all  estimation. 

Again — the  value  of  this  book ,  which  God  has 
finished ,  and  which  man  may  neither  add  to  nor  take 
from,  appears  from  its  unequalled  code  of  moral  pre¬ 
cepts,  proceeding  from  the  highest  source ,  and  based 
upon  the  most  awful  sanctions. 

Man  is  addressed  as  a  social  being — as  one  indivi¬ 
dual  of  a  vast  brotherhood,  as  not  only  having  a  soul 


TIIE  ESfCOMPARABLElSrESS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES.  65 


to  save,  but  as  bound  to  conduct  bimself  honorably, 
usefully,  and  well,  in  all  the  relations  he  sustains  to 
society.  He  who  was  holy,  harmless,  nndefiled,  is 
proposed  as  a  perfect  pattern  for  man  to  follow. 
From  his  example,  as  well  as  from  his  precepts,  we 
learn  to  love  God ;  to  honor  and  obey  his  ordinances ; 
to  love  our  neighbor  as  ourselves ;  to  revere  and 
uphold  the  institutions  of  civil  society ;  to  be  chari¬ 
table  to  the  poor  ;  to  have  mercy  on  the  afflicted,  the 
sorrowing,  and  distressed ;  to  be  kind  and  affectionate 
in  our  intercourse  with  those  around  us  ;  to  exercise 
the  graces  of  meekness,  forbearance,  humility,  for¬ 
giveness  ;  to  curb  all  rebellious  and  unholy  passions 
and  propensities  that  war  against  the  spirit ;  to  exer¬ 
cise  a  calm  trust  in  an  overruling  Providence,  and 
resignation  to  His  wise  and  righteous  decrees ;  to 
weep  with  them  that  weep,  and  pour  the  oil  of  com¬ 
fort  into  all  woimded  hearts  ;  in  a  word,  to  spend 
our  whole  life  in  doing  the  Father’s  will,  which  is  to 
love  God,  and  because  we  love  him  to  do  good  to  all 
mankind. 

And  if  we  look  at  the  inculcations  of  the  holy 
apostles  we  shall  find  this  matchless  code  run  out  into 
lesser  details,  and  enforced  with  a  strength,  earnest¬ 
ness,  beauty,  and  pathos  of  language  which,  but  for  a 
stubborn  and  defiant  will,  would  make  their  effect 


GO  THE  INCOMP AK ABLENESS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES. 


irresistible,  Tlie  reciprocal  duties  of  husbands  and 
wives,  parents  and  children,  masters  and  servants, 
kings  and  subjects,  rulers  and  governed,  those  in 
authority  and  those  under  authority — the  rich  and 
the  poor,  the  high  and  the  low,  are  stated  with  so 
much  clearness,  and  urged  with  such  affectionate 
importunity,  that  it  is  impossible  to  misunderstand, 
and  hard  not  to  be  convinced  and  persuaded  to 
obey. 

And  such  is  the  commanding  logic  and  energy  of 
these  lofty  inculcations,  that  they  have  changed  the 
moral  complexion,  not  of  communities  simply,  but  of 
entire  nations.  Certainly  the  most  highly  civilized 
and  powerful  nations  on  the  globe  are  Christian 
nations,  and  no  Christian  nation  is  to  be  found  whose 
laws  are  most  equal,  just,  beneficent,  and  commenda¬ 
ble,  that  is  not  indebted  for  the  noblest  of  its  statutes 
to  the  Christian  code.  Beyond  controversy,  the  best 
laws  of  the  most  enlightened  and  vigorous  nations 
are  based  not  merely  upon,  but  are  often  little  more 
than  transcripts  from  the  Bible,  and  more  particularly 
from  the  blew  Testament  code ;  and  they  stand  there 
like  adamant,  time  and  change  defying — while  those 
laws  which  remain  still  upon  the  statute-book,  too 
rotten  and  feeble  to  support  their  own  weight  much 
longer,  will  be  found  to  be  the  very  laws  which  are 


THE  INCOMPAEABLENESS  OF  TIIE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES.  67 


most  widely  separated  from  tlie  spirit  of  true  Chris¬ 
tian  morality. 

Oh !  what  a  priceless  hook  is  that  which  teaches 
government  how  to  make  laws,  and  men  how  to  obey 
them — which  instructs  the  nation,  the  community, 
the  little  neighborhood,  the  household,  the  individual, 
in  the  great  principles  and  duties  appropriate  to  all 
and  to  each — which  hinds  them  all  together  with 
the  cord  of  authority,  stretching  from  human  hands 
to  the  throne  of  God. 

I  should  not  omit  to  mention  the  value  of  the 
Bible  in  the  light  of  its  literary  merits .  This  is  not 
so  important  a  view  intrinsically,  as  some  which  have 
been  presented,  especially  that  which  sets  it  forth  as 
bringing  life  and  immortality  to  light.  But  the  view 
is  sufficiently  important  to  justify  a  passing  re¬ 
mark. 

4 

In  what  hook  shall  we  find  poetry  that  will  at  all 
compare  in  sublimity  with  some  of  the  sudden  im¬ 
passioned  hursts  of  the  hard  Isaiah,  or  in  gorgeous 
imagery,  in  animated  description,  tenderness,  eleva¬ 
tion,  or  pathos,  with  the  sweet  numbers  uttered  by 
the  inspired  singer  of  Israel  ?  Where,  in  the  whole 
range  of  uninspired  literature,  shall  we  find  a  hook 
filled  with  such  varied  compositions  of  the  highest 
order,  as  the  hook  of  Job — a  hook  of  which  the  con- 


68  THE  INCOMP  ARABLENESS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES. 


eluding  chapters  alone,  where  the  Almighty  answers 
Job  out  of  a  whirlwind,  suffice  to  place  it  in  point 
of  dignity,  grandeur,  and  magnificent  description, 
at  an  unapproachable  distance  from  all  human 
compositions  ?  What  narrative  so  intensely  interest¬ 
ing,  so  profoundly  affecting  as  the  history  of  Joseph, 
from  his  first  entrance  on  the  stage,  through  all  the 
steps  of  his  chequered  and  marvellous  career,  to  his 
reunion  with  his  venerable  father !  Often  as  we  have 
perused  it,  it  retains  its  charm  and  power  still,  and 
forces  our  eyes  to  overflow,  however  stoutly  we  may 
resist  the  fascination.  Where  shall  we  find  pathetic 
lamentation  so  perfectly  embodied  as  in  David’s 
grief-moving  words  on  the  deaths  of  Saul  and 
Jonathan,  and  of  his  rebellious  son  Absalom?  Where 
shall  we  find  a  nobler  and  more  instructive  pro¬ 
verbial  philosophy,  than  that  which  Solomon’s  in¬ 
spired  pen  has  bequeathed  to  the  world  ?  If  we  seek 
for  eloquence,  what  models  are  to  be  found  among 
all  the  books  of  the  world,  nobler  than  some  of  those 
furnished  by  the  Scriptures,  such  as  Stephen’s  over¬ 
whelming  address  to  his  countrymen,  or  Peter’s 
sermon  at  Pentecost,  or  Paul’s  address  before  Festus 
or  the  Areopagus  ?  Where  shall  we  find  narratives 
drawn  out  with  more  simplicity  and  truthfulness, 
presenting  pictures  of  the  subjects  treated  before  the 


THE  INCOMPARABLENESS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES.  69 


very  eye  of  tlie  reader,  as  those  of  the  holy  Evangelists 
do  ?  In  what  uninspired  hook  is  there  such  an  accu¬ 
mulation  of  the  most  appropriate  and  forcible  figures 
and  images,  to  illustrate  the  most  familiar  no  less 
than  the  grandest  truths  ?  If  we  would  find  the  most 
striking  comparisons,  the  most  lively  similitudes,  the 
most  beautiful  allegories,  the  most  faultless  parables, 
we  must  look  to  the  Bible,  for  it  confessedly  bears 
off  the  palm  from  all  compositions  besides.  It  is 
indeed  no  exaggeration  to  say  that  there  are,  in  the 
Bible,  specimens  of  almost  every  species  of  excellent 
writing,  and  in  a  degree  of  excellence  which  no 
human  productions  can  rival.  So  that  in  a  merely 
literary  point  of  view  the  Bible  has  claims  upon  the 
worlfl  such  as  no  other  book  whatsoever  can  present. 
Add  to  this,  the  inexhaustible  variety  of  its  topics, 
and  the  transcendant  importance  and  grandeur  of 
many  of  its  lessons,  the  intensely  interesting  charac¬ 
ter  of  its  contents  to  people  of  all  nations  and  every 
tongue,  the  perpetual  freshness  which  its  pages  bear 
even  on  the  most  frequent  perusal  and  the  closest 
intimacy, — the  profundity  of  its  wisdom,  which 
leaves  room  for  the  largest  understanding  to  expa¬ 
tiate  and  learn  more  and  more  up  to  the  very  close 
of  the  longest  and  most  studious  life,  while  the 
understanding  of  the  simple  can  easily  apprehend 


70  THE  INCOMP  AEABLENESS  OF  TIIE  HOLY  SCEIPTUKES. 


enough  of  its  sublime  truths,  to  edify,  refresh,  and 
strengthen,  while  the  j  ourney  of  life  is  pursued ; 
consider  all  this — and  all  this  is  hut  a  part  of  its 
incomparable  value,  its  peerless  supremacy — and 
then  confess  that  the  book  of  books  is  a  treasure 
indeed,  more  precious  than  rubies,  more  to  be 
desired  than  gold,  and  worthy  to  be  the  gift  of  Him 
who  is  the  greatest  and  most  glorious  of  Beings. 
ISTor  should  we  fail,  in  this  connexion,  to  remark  the 
influence,  unique,  purifying,  all-pervading,  of  the 
Bible  literature  upon  the  nations,  its  hold  upon  them 
becoming  firmer,  and  its  living  spirit  more  indelibly 
stamped  with  the  rolling  years.  Its  superiority,  in  this 
respect,  to  all  human  literature,  is  as  marked  and 
decisive  as  the  superiority  of  the  Great  Teacher  to 
the  ancient  philosophers,  or  his  system  to  theirs. 
Christ’s  teaching  was  not  simply  the  most  perfect  in 
its  kind  that  the  world  ever  saw ;  perfect  for  one  age 
or  era,  and  then  to  be  removed  to  make  room  for 
another  system.  But  it  was  perfect  in  respect  to  all 
time,  and  adapted  to  every  age  and  clime,  and  every 
state  of  society,  and  the  world.  The  schools  of  the 
Stoic,  the  Peripatetic,  and  Epicurean,  where  are 
they?  Overwhelmed  hundreds  of  years  ago  by  the 
waves  of  Time  and  Change.  But  the  school  of  the 
Nazarene  lives  and  flourishes  still.  Hor  has  the  lapse 


THE  mCOMPAR ABLENESS  OF  TIIE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES.  71 


of  eighteen  centuries  lessened  the  number  of  its  dis¬ 
ciples,  nor  dimmed  the  lustre  of  its  celebrity,  nor 
rendered  its  celestial  lessons  obsolete,  barren,  or  value¬ 
less — but  its  renown  has  risen,  and  the  wondrous  In¬ 
structor  become  more  highly  prized  with  the  revo¬ 
lution  of  ages. 

So  with  the  literature  which  reflects  and  illustrates 
these  teachings.  It  has  not  become  effete.  It  does 
not  rule  like  the  ancient  classics,  “  holding  a  barren 
sceptre  in  its  gripe.”  It  does  not  live  on  through 
mere  sufferance,  or  retain  its  hold  on  human  sympa¬ 
thy  like  the  Iliad  and  other  wrondrous  products  of 
Pagan  genius,  through  the  mind’s  instinctive  admi¬ 
ration  of  rare  exhibitions  of  imagination  and  art,  or 
through  the  amusement  or  delight  found  in  scanning 
and  studying  curiously  wrought  and  beautiful  pic¬ 
tures  ;  or  because  of  the  help  furnished  in  forming 
scholarly  tastes,  widening  the  intellectual  scope,  rais¬ 
ing  the  tone  of  thought,  or  reflecting  the  manners 
and  opinions  of  wonderful  but  departed  races — with¬ 
out  at  the  same  time  increasing  the  stock  of  moral 
truth,  by  giving  out  one  vital  thought  or  grand  teach¬ 
ing  to  inspire  and  elevate  man  as  man,  or  one  glim¬ 
mer  of  light  to  guide  him  in  the  path  of  true  pro¬ 
gress.  This  pagan  literature,  therefore,  so  far  as 
moral  aim  or  elevation  is  concerned,  is  spiritless  and 


72  THE  INCOMPARABLENESS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES. 


dead.  Not  so  that  of  the  Bible.  It  has  not  only  life 
within  itself,  bnt  the  real  life-giving  power.  It  has 
stamped  itself  in  bright  and  ineffaceable  characters 
ujion  the  literature  of  every  Christian  nation.  It  has 
moulded  the  intellectual  and  moral  life  of  the  last 
eighteen  centuries.  It  has  become  inwrought  into 
the  mental  constitution  and  aptitudes  of  those  great 
writers,  in  whatever  department,  who  have  spoken  to 
rouse  and  instruct  the  ages,  and  sway  the  human 
mind.  It  has  colored  their  habits  of  thought,  and  of 
course  shaped  their  modes  of  expression.  The 
noblest  utterances  of  human  lips  reflect  the  Bible 
most.  Milton,  without  it,  had  been  “  mute,  inglorious 
Milton,”  indeed — and  Locke,  and  Bacon,  and  New¬ 
ton,  and  even  Shakspeare,  voiceless  or  vapid.  It  has 
interfused  its  living  spirit  with  the  mental  habitudes 
of  all  with  whom  it  has  come  in  contact,  making 
u  thoughts  that  breathe  and  words  that  burn”  to  owe 
this  character,  in  great  degree,  to  such  contact,  and 
often  unconsciously  to  the  speakers  themselves.  Nor 
is  it  too  much  to  say,  that  were  it  possible  to  strike  out 
from  the  literature  of  Christian  nations,  everything 
originating  in  or  traceable  to  the  Sacred  Scriptures ; 
everything  reflecting  slightly  or  palpably  the  life 
and  teachings  of  the  eternal  Book  ;  by  far  the  great¬ 
est  part  of  what  is  truly  precious  would  disappear, 


THE  INCOME AR ABLENESS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES.  73 


making  what  remained,  seem  as  dross  and  rubbish  com¬ 
pared  with  the  gold  and  gems  that  were  taken  away.* 
It  is  interesting  to  view  the  Christian  literature 
borne  side  by  side  with  the  Pagan,  down  the  troubled 
stream  of  .the  ages.  The  former  growing,  like  the 
house  of  David,  stronger  and  stronger,  having  within 
it  the  true  elements  of  grandeur  and  moral  power 
and  expansion ;  the  latter,  like  the  house  of  Saul, 
waxing  weaker  and  weaker  by  contrast,  or  the  force 
of  contact  with  the  other,  or  inherent  lack  of  energy 
to  gain  new  trophies  or  hold  those  once  won,  or  the 
absence  of  the  Spirit  that  dove-like  brooded  upon  the 
waters  at  the  beginning.  The  one  earnest,  straight¬ 
forward,  hopeful,  confident, — conscious  that  its  mis¬ 
sion  is  divine,  and  that  a  divine  hand  upholds  it,  and 
will  make  its  course  safe  and  successful ;  the  other 
timid  and  irresolute,  feeling  that  it  stands  by  pre¬ 
scriptive  merit  merely,  with  no  firmer  ground  than 
human  taste  and  sentiment  to  rest  upon,  and  without 
noble  purpose  or  divinely-breathed  soul  to  perpetu¬ 
ate  its  influence.  The  former  disdaining  to  smile  on 
vice,  or  encourage  the  exercise  of  gross  and  corrupt 
proclivities,  or  the  bad  heart’s  bad  passions ;  the  other 

*  The  author  of  “  The  Eclipse  of  Faith  ”  has  expanded  this  mat¬ 
ter  with  great  ingenuity  and  force,  in  the  section  of  his  striking 
work  entitled  “  The  Blank  Bible.” 


4 


74  THE  INCOMPARABLENESS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES. 


loving  popular  favor  more  than  it  hates  vice,  incul¬ 
cating  the  loosest  notions  of  virtue,  and  exemplifying 
its  teaching  by  making  the  greatest  of  its  heroes  and 
even  of  its  gods,  the  paragons  of  sensuality.  The 
Pagan  literature  is  ever  viciously  conservative.  It 
has  made  no  advance  in  morals,  or  elevated  senti¬ 
ment,  or  humanizing  ideas — remaining  stationary 
through  all  the  periods  of  its  life,  seeming  even  to  go 
backwards  when  viewed  in  the  light  of  the  ceaseless 
movement  and  activity  around  it ;  beautiful,  indeed, 
and  informing  too,  to  gaze  upon,  as  an  exquisite  piece 
of  statuary,  but  as  cold  and  motionless.  While  the 
Christian  literature,  having  the  principles  of  truth  inhe¬ 
rent  in  it,  is  buoyant  and  progressive  evermore, — pour¬ 
ing  fertilizing  streams  throughout  society ;  awakening 
immortal  thoughts  and  aspirations ;  stimulating  the 
sluggish  powers  to  virtuous  action,  and  making  many 
a  stubborn  waste  to  bloom  and  blossom  as  the  rose. 

And  this  it  has  done  in  spite  of  all  opposition,  hfo 
method  that  man’s  hatred  could  devise  to  dim  its 
brightness,  or  paralyze  its  energy,  has  been  left  un¬ 
tried.  Infidel  science  and  philosophy  have  made  it 
the  object  of  their  most  determined  and  unwearied 
animosity.  But  it  has  laughed  to  scorn  equally  the 
spite  of  Celsus,  the  ridicule  of  Julian,  the  subtle  acu¬ 
men  of  Porphyry,  the  mockery  of  Voltaire,  the  sneers 


THE  INCOMPARABLENESS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES.  75 


of  Gibbon,  and  the  ribaldry  of  Paine.  It  has  not  only 
come  ont  unscathed  from  every  ordeal,  but  shines 
with  brighter  lustre  by  reason  of  these  raging  furnaces 
through  which  it  has  passed.  And  if  the  works  of 
some  great  creative  mind  which  have  come  unharmed 
through  a  single  century  of  fierce  hostility  and  cri¬ 
ticism  are  deemed  safe  and  immovable  for  the  fu¬ 
ture,  how  impregnable  must  be  the  position  of  that 
literature,  which  for  eighteen  centuries  has  been  sub¬ 
jected  to  trials  more  terrible  than  ever  befell  unin¬ 
spired  book  \  Can  we  shun  the  conclusion  that  the 
book  which  has  done  this  must  infallibly  be  from 
God  ?  But  I  have  dwelt  too  long  upon  this  aspect  of 
the  subject,  and  pass  to  inquire  once  more — 

For  what  specific  purpose  this  marvellous  booh  has 
been  given  f  Why  has  such  an  inestimable  legacy 
been  bestowed  upon  a  sin-cursed  world,  upon  a  race 
of  rebels  ?  Why  has  this  treasure,  so  vast  and  pre¬ 
cious,  been  intrusted  to  earthen  vessels  ?  The  answer, 
in  part,  is  implied  in  several  of  the  points  already 
surveyed,  as  for  instance,  God  displaying  his  attri¬ 
butes  and  claims,  laying  bare  the  sinner’s  iniquities 
and  exposure  to  condemnation — and  sending  forth  his 
beloved  Son,  born  of  a  woman,  to  atone  for  human 
*  guilt  and  open  the  way  for  man’s  recovery  and  salva¬ 
tion.  The  reason  why  the  Bible  has  been  given,  is 


76  THE  INCOMPARABLENESS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES. 


worthy,  however,  of  being  considered  in  this  place 
by  itself,  especially  as  I  design  to  connect  it  with  an¬ 
other  point  in  the  close  of  these  remarks.  Do  you 
ask  then  for  what  purpose  this  peerless  Book  has  been 
given  to  the  world  ?  I  reply  in  one  emphatic  word — 
Salvation.  This  is  the  comprehensive,  all-telling 
word  that  expresses  the  whole  answer — Salvation,  in 
all  its  length  and  breadth — from  the  curse  and  its 
dire  effects — from  the  wrath  of  God — from  the  im¬ 
pending  sword  of  justice — from  the  intolerable  stings 
of  a  guilty  conscience — from  the  death  that  never 
dies — from  the  endless  agony  that  has  no  mitigation. 

It  is  a  faithful  saying ,  and  worthy  of  all  accepta¬ 
tion,  that  Christ  Jesus  came  into  the  world  to  save  sin¬ 
ners.  This  single  intensely  significant  passage  expres¬ 
ses  the  whole  purpose  of  the  Bible,  and  explains  the 
secret  of  its  being  in  our  hands.  It  declares  that  Jesus 
Christ  has  come,  and  the  purpose  for  which  he  came, 
and  that  the  saying  is  true  and  worthy  of  universal 
acknowledgment.  Without  the  coming  of  Jesus 
Christ,  there  had  been  no  Bible.  Heaven  had  not 
demeaned  itself  to  write  for  the  world,  simply  a  book 
of  history,  or  philosophy,  or  poetry,  or  eloquence,  or 
a  book  abounding  with  any  kind  of  rare  and  wonder¬ 
ful  excellences,  isolated  from  Jesus  Christ,  and  the 
sublime  purpose  of  his  coming.  lie  is  the  central 


THE  INCOMPARABLENESS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES.  77 


sun  wliose  rays  penetrate  to  every  part,  and  illus¬ 
trate  every  part,  and  whose  light  extinguished  every 
part  is  dark  as  darkness  itself.  Whatever  the  Bible 
contains  that  is  interesting,  valuable,  and  important ; 
whatever  gives  it  its  unapproachable  superiority  ; 
whatever  invests  it  with  a  charm  which  raging  ene¬ 
mies  and  rolling  ages  have  been  unable  to  break ;  is 
the  fruit  of  that  great  purpose  made  before  the  worlds 
were  framed,  to  give  the  beloved  Son  as  a  victim  to 
divine  justice.  Christ  absent  from  the  Bible,  the  ele¬ 
ments  of  its  grandeur  are  resolved  at  once  into 
nothingness — and  because  he  is  present  there,  all  its 
blessed  pages  being  effulgent  with  his  name,  we  have 
the  Book  in  its  present  dimensions — a  book  to  which 
the  finishing  stroke  has  been  given  beyond  human 
power  of  alteration ;  a  book  which  has  extorted  the 
admiration  of  all  ages,  and  poured  in  all  ages  the 
light  of  its  heavenly  wisdom  and  love  upon  the  minds 
of  docile  inquirers  who  have  gone  to  it  for  guidance 
and  consolation. 

And  Christ — but  for  the  stupendous  fact  of  whose 
love,  as  sublimely  shown  in  his  ministry  of  sorrows 
and  suffering,  no  Bible  had  ever  blessed  the  world — • 
came  into  the  world  to  save  sinners,  and  sinners  are 
found  everywhere.  The  distinguishing  peculiarities 
of  nations  as  respects  language,  custom,  complexion, 


78  THE  mOOMPARABLENESS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES. 


manners,  laws,  reach  not  to  their  moral  constitution. 
Every  man  is  an  alien  from  God,  a  child  of  wrath,  an 
heir  of  woe.  To  every  man  there  is  need  of  moral  and 
spiritual  renovation ;  to  have  the  precious  blood  ap¬ 
plied  to  wash  the  stains  of  a  corrupt  heart  away.  The 
Bible,  therefore,  is  infinitely  valuable  to  every  man,  as 
setting  forth  Christ,  and  him  crucified,  the  only  hope 
and  refuge  of  the  soul.  All  may  not  appreciate  its  his¬ 
torical  and  literary  merits,  the  grandeur  of  its  descrip¬ 
tions,  the  beauty  of  its  images,  the  loftiness  of  its  style  ; 
but  all  may  appreciate  the  force  of  the  “  faithful  say¬ 
ing,”  that  Christ  died  to  save  sinners ;  that,  in  the 
depths  of  his  loving  heart,  there  is  joy  for  the  disconso¬ 
late,  peace  for  the  sin-troubled,  rest  for  the  weary  and 
the  heavy-laden ;  and  that  as  the  end  of  faith  and  hope, 
there  is  for  all  believing  souls  a  heaven  of  fadeless  glory. 

The  Bible,  then,  is  a  book  for  the  world,  and  it  is 
our  duty  to  circulate  it.  It  proposes  to  lift  the  beg¬ 
gar  from  the  dunghill,  disrobe  him  of  his  rags,  clothe 
him  with  fresh  and  costly  garments,  and  place  him 
beside  princes,  as  a  guest  of  the  King  of  Heaven.  Its 
light  is  not  to  be  hidden ;  its  benefits  are  not  to  be 
restricted  ;  its  untold  wealth  is  not  to  be  confined  to 
a  class.  Like  its  author,  its  mission  is  one  of  uni¬ 
versal  philanthropy,  and  the  blessings  it  scatters  fall, 
like  the  dews  and  rains  of  heaven,  freely  upon  high 


THE  INCOMP ARABLENESS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES.  19 


and  low,  rich  and  poor.  Wherever  it  comes,  it  hears 
with  it  good  tidings  of  great  joy.  There  is  no  squalid 
abode,  no  den  of  wretchedness,  no  hovel  where  lowly 
toil  is  hardly  earning  through  sweat  and  struggles  its 
daily  bread,  that  it  does  not  enter  with  a  smile  that 
inspires  hope,  saying  to  the  degraded  and  the  toil- 
worn,  “peace  be  unto  this  abode.”  It  is  ours,  at 
least,  Christians,  to  see  that  every  family  around  us, 
and  as  far  as  our  influence  can  reach,  is  supplied 
with  a  copy  of  the  Word  of  Life.  If  the  religious 
enterprise  of  the  present  day  had  done  nothing  more 
than  to  cheapen  and  multiply  the  Bible,  and  effect 
organizations  for  scattering  it  far  and  wide  over  the 
land  and  over  the  world,  it  would  have  established  a 
just  claim  to  the  gratitude  of  present  and  succeeding 
ages.  The  day  of  ignorance  is  passing  away.  The 
Scriptures  are  accessible  to  all  who  dwell  in  a  Chris¬ 
tian  land.  Ho  household  and  no  individual  can  say, 
as  it  might  be  said  formerly,  that  the  enormous  price 
of  the  Bible  places  it  beyond  the  reach  of  poverty ; 
and,  therefore,  not  to  possess  a  copy  is  a  misfortune 
not  a  fault.  A  paltry  twenty-five  cents  will  intro¬ 
duce  a  Bible  to  the  most  poverty-stricken  abode ; 
and  lest  even  this  sum  should  prove  a  barrier  with 
any  to  obtain  a  copy,  the  benevolence  of  the  age 
stands  ready  to  give  to  every  one  that  asketh,  having 


80  THE  INCOMPARABLENESS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES. 


little  means  to  buy,  the  book,  “  without  money  and 
without  price,”  and  hence  every  plea  for  not  having 
the  “  lamp  of  life”  in  a  dwelling  is  swept  away, 
and  the  “  condemnation,”  if  it  fall,  will  be  this,  that 
“  light  has  come  into  the  world,  and  men  have  loved 
darkness  more  than  light.” 

I  regard  an  efficient  national  Bible  Society  not 
only  as  a  chief  glory  of  a  nation,  but  among  the 
strongest  of  its  conservators.  Great  Britain,  with 
her  ponderous,  unwieldy,  national  debt,  her  social 
diseases,  her  cankerous  crimes,  her  far-reaching 
oppression,  the  grinding  inequality  of  her  religious 
system — enough  all  of  them  to  tumble  any  nation 
into  ruins,  stands  on  a  foundation,  of  which  her 
gigantic  Bible  Society,  a  perpetual  stream  of  bene¬ 
volence  to  millions,  forms  one  of  the  principal  stones. 
Let  this  be  torn  away  from  its  place,  and  the  sway¬ 
ing  and  tottering  of  the  mighty  superstructure 
begins.  Our  own  country,  free  indeed  from  many  of 
the  political  and  social  maladies  of  the  parent  nation, 
is  yet  following  her  with  rapid  strides  in  the  march 
of  impiety  and  heaven-daring  crime.  But  our  Bible 
Society  lives,  thank  God,  and  with  each  healthy 
pulsation  of  its  mighty  heart,  is  sending  a  pure 
circulation  of  the  word  of  God,  in  divers  tongues 
and  dialects,  to  the  farthest  extremities  of  the 


THE  LNCOMPARABLENESS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES.  81 


system,  tlie  effect  of  which  is  to  uphold  the  pillars 
of  the  state,  through  God’s  mercy  on  efforts  to  pro¬ 
mote  his  glory  by  scattering  his  truth.  May  this 
tree,  with  its  numerous  branches,  he  fostered  by  the 
prayers  and  liberality  of  all  Christian  hearts,  that 
its  leaves  may  he  for  the  healing  of  other  nations, 
and  for  the  preservation  of  our  own. 

We  are  an  auxiliary  of  this  good  Parent  Society. 
I  trust  wTe  are  dutiful  children  of  so  beneficent  a 
parent,  and  that  we  shall  prove  a  part  of  her  family 
of  which  she  shall  have  no  cause  to  he  ashamed. 
We  have  done  something  in  years  past  to  show  our 
interest  in  her  welfare.  We  have  sent  something  to 
her  treasury  in  the  shape  of  contributions,  to  aid  the 
wheels  of  her  operations  to  work  smoothly  and  well. 
W e  have  received  her  agents  with  respect  and  cordi¬ 
ality.  We  have  given  them  access  to  our  families, 
and  furnished  them  what  facilities  we  could  for  the 
prosecution  of  their  work,  and  bid  them  God  speed, 
as  they  have  gone  forth  to  visit  the  habitations  of 
the  destitute  poor  and  others  around  us.  I  know  not 
what  report  they  have  borne  of  us  to  the  General 
Society,  whether  they  have  spoken  of  us  as  enter¬ 
prising,  zealous,  liberal  in  the  Bible  cause,  or  in  terms 
less  favorable  than  these.  Probably,  in  the  spirit  of 
the  book  they  circulate,  they  have  spoken  of  us  with 

4* 


82  THE  INCOMPARABLENESS  OF  THE  HOLY  SCRIPTURES. 


a  kindness  and  forbearance  we  may  hardly  deserve. 
Be  this  as  it  may,  we,  at  least,  may  say  of  ourselves, 
that  we  have  not  done  all  that  we  could /  that  the 
interest  and  zeal  we  have  displayed,  have  not  been 
proportioned  to  the  grandeur  of  the  work,  and  the 
magnitude  of  the  consequences  involved.  Let  our 
future  activity  show  our  earnest  desire  to  repair  any 
past  delinquency ;  and  though  there  were  no  family 
in  our  county  calling  for  a  Bible  at  our  hands,  the 
world  is  yet  before  us,  filled  with  darkness  and 
idolatry,  and  Christ  bids  us  not  to  rest  till  every 
benighted  habitation  on  the  globe  is  lighted  by  the 
lamp  of  life. 


HALL  AID  CHALMERS. 


The  precious  remains  of  the  latter  of  these  great 
and  good  men  now  rest  where  those  of  the  former 
have  long  peacefully  reposed,  in  the  bosom  of  our 
common  mother.  Each  at  his  death  left  a  chasm  not 
soon  or  easily  to  he  closed,  not  simply  in  the  imme¬ 
diate  circle  of  a  large  acquaintance,  not  in  the  par¬ 
ticular  branch  of  the  Church  to  which  he  belonged, 
but  in  the  Church  throughout  its  length  and  breadth 
■ — wherever,  indeed,  exalted  talent,  relined  and  con¬ 
trolled  by  devoted  piety,  demands  and  receives  the 
worthy  tribute  of  admiration  and  love  from  Christian 
hearts.  Each  fulfilled  his  course  honorably,  leaving 
the  impress  of  lofty  sentiments  illustrated  by  a  spot¬ 
less  character,  upon  his  own  and  coming  times.  As 
it  was  said  of  the  former,  by  one  who  knew  him  well, 
and  was  highly  qualified  to  appreciate  and  describe 
his  character  and  gifts,  so  may  it  now  be  said  of  the 
latter :  “  While  ready  to  give  due  honor  to  all  valu¬ 
able  preachers,  and  knowing  that  the  lights  of  reli¬ 
gious  instruction  will  still  shine  with  useful  lustre,  and 
new  ones  continually  rise,  we  involuntarily  and  pen- 


84 


HALL  AND  CHALMERS. 


sively  turn  to  look  at  tlie  last  fading  colors  in  tlie 
distance  where  the  greater  luminary  has  set.” 

To  compare  justly  the  man  whom  the  grave  has 
recently  closed  upon,  with  him  who  has  long  slept 
there,  is  almost  as  difficult  as  to  compare  the  latter 
with  the  living  man.  It  requires  time,  in  ordinary 
cases,  to  form  a  true  and  impartial  estimate  of  human 
character.  While  a  man  lives,  let  him  he  as  great 
and  as  pure  as  is  compatible  with  our  fallen  humanity 
to  be,  his  sentiments,  actions,  and  character  will 
hardly  receive  a  fair  and  just  appreciation.  Preju¬ 
dice  and  passion,  envy  and  malice,  sectarian  bias  and 
party  spirit,  the  very  imperfections  and  infirmities  of 
the  living  man,  trivial  and  insignificant,  in  comparison 
with  his  shining  excellences,  as  they  will  appear  when 
he  comes  to  lie  in  the  grave,  detract  seemingly  from 
his  merits,  render  opinions  discordant,  and  constitute 
so  many  barriers  in  the  way  of  that  righteous  deci¬ 
sive  verdict  to  which  men  afterwards  slowly  but  cer¬ 
tainly  arrive.  The  living  man  moves  among  his 
fellow-men  with  passions  and  infirmities  like  theirs. 
Ho  superiority  to  other  men  can  place  him  beyond 
the  reach  of  unfair  criticism.  He  is  exposed  to  evil 
eyes  and  evil  tongnes,  and  the  various  influences 
which  cause  the  judgment  even  of  honest  minds  to 
differ ;  until,  when  he  dies,  it  is  found  that  the  world 


HALL  AHD  CIIALMEKS. 


So 


have  yet  to  learn  truly,  and  pronounce  finally,  upon 
his  real  worth.  It  would  be  easy  to  cite  a  host  of 
examples,  where  genius  and  talent,  working  out  for 
their  possessors  a  world-wide  reputation,  were  ne¬ 
glected  and  underrated  by  the  men  of  their  own 
generation.  The  great  man,  hying,  failed  to  be 
gauged  aright  by  his  contemporaries ;  but  numbered 
with  the  dead,  opinion,  in  process  of  tune,  became 
purified  of  its  error  and  dross,  and  a  verdict  to  his 
worth' — honest,  true,  and  destined  to  last,  arose  as  it 
were  from  his  grave. 

This  remark  has  its  exceptions,  and  among  these 
the  name  of  Chalmers  must  be  placed.  He  died  in 
a  good  old  age.  He  has  been  for  many  years  promi¬ 
nently  before  the  public  eye.  He  was  a  bold,  ardent, 
devoted  champion  of  a  cause  to  which  his  best  ener¬ 
gies  were  consecrated.  He  has  done  good  service  in 
defending  the  bulwarks  and  advancing  the  interests 
of  our  common  Christianity.  His  “  works,”  though 
they  needs  must  “  follow  ”  him,  now  that  he  is  dead, 
did  follow  him,  defining  and  illustrating  his  character, 
“  when  he  was  yet  with  us.”  He  is  known  as  well 
and  appreciated  as  highly,  we  had  almost  said,  by  the 
Protestant  world  generally,  as  by  that  section  of  the 
Church  where  he  lived  and  labored,  was  idolized  and 
died.  The  structure  of  his  mind,  the  character  of 


86 


HALL  AND  CHALMERS. 


his  eloquence,  the  measure  of  his  piety,  the  extent  of 
his  influence,  are  points  upon  which  little  information 
is  needed.  The  idiosyncrasies  of  his  character  are 
so  marked,  stand  out  so  boldly  before  us,  that  "we 
appear  to  know  him  as  wTell  as  we  can  know  him. 
Nor  do  we  scruple  to  express  the  belief,  that  the 
estimate  in  which  the  world  held  his  character  at  his 
death,  and  had  long  held  it,  will,  instead  of  undergo¬ 
ing  any  material  change,  be  ratified  by  posterity. 

In  the  character  of  these  remarkable  men,  in 
several  interesting  and  striking  points  at  least,  a  close 
resemblance  may  be  traced.  To  say  that  both  were 
endowed  with  the  highest  order  of  talent,  that  their 
powers  were  rendered  more  effective  by  the  sternest 
discipline,  and  by  learning,  at  once  various  and  pro¬ 
found,  is  not  to  mark  a  resemblance  that  deserves  to 
be  dwelt  upon  because  there  is  anything  strange  or 
peculiar  about  it.  Numbers  of  eminent  men  have 
borne,  and  bear,  in  these  respects,  a  resemblance  to 
each  other.  The  fact  is  noticed  chiefly  for  the  lesson 
it  suggests.  We  see  how  important  these  men  con¬ 
sidered  large  and  various  learning  to  be  to  the  effi¬ 
ciency  and  success  of  their  ministerial  work.  Had 
they  discarded  or  neglected  this,  they  had  never 
been  the  men  they  were.  They  were  not  content 
with  being  simply  theologians,  fitted  for  the  task  of 


HALL  AND  CHALMEKS. 


87 


expounding  the  scriptures  aright  by  a  thorough  ac¬ 
quaintance  with  each  branch  of  sacred  science  and 
literature.  This  skill  is  certainly  of  the  last  import¬ 
ance,  and  they  prized  it  as  it  deserves  to  he  prized. 
But  they  thought,  that  to  explore  sources  of  learning 
not  purely  theological,  would,  instead  of  derogating 
from  their  power  as  preachers  of  the  word,  increase 
it,  and  render  it  more  effective  for  good.  It  was 
their  settled  conviction,  that  every  species  of  know¬ 
ledge  might  he  made  subservient  to  religion,  and 
their  studies  accordingly  took  a  wide  range.  We 
know  from  other  sources  than  their  printed  works, 
what  their  sentiments  were  on  this  subject.  But  if 
we  did  not,  we  ascertain  them  there  most  decidedly. 
Hor  can  we  fail  to  he  convinced,  as  we  read  them, 
that  a  strong  element  of  their  power  is  found,  under 
God,  in  the  extent  and  variety  of  the  learning 
which  they  brought  to  bear  on  the  illustration  and 
enforcement  of  religious  truth.  To  win  souls  to 
Christ  is  indeed  the  grand  object  of  the  preacher’s 
toils.  But  he,  other  things  equal,  will  succeed  best 
in  this  work  who  is  most  fully  furnished,  qualified  at 
all  points  for  entering  on  it. 

But  the  lofty  powers  of  these  eminent  men  were 
refined  and  ennobled  by  the  most  lovely  piety.  This 
point  of  resemblance  deserves  to  be  noticed  for  its 


88 


HALL  AND  CHALMEKS. 


own  sake.  The  union  -  of  great  endowments  and 
warm  piety  is  far  rarer  than  it  should  be.  Wher¬ 
ever  it  occurs,  it  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  and 
striking  objects  that  the  mind  can  view.  What 
raises  Newton  to  so  lofty  a  height  in  onr  regard,  as 
to  see  him  sit  an  humble  learner  in  the  school  of 
Christ,  his  noble  powers  brought  all  of  them  into 
childlike  submission  to  the  will  of  the  Great  Teacher  ! 
The  rareness  of  such  a  spectacle  among  men  of  philo¬ 
sophic  pursuits  renders  it  the  more  imposing.  Even 
in  the  minister  of  Christ,  piety,  which,  as  a  qualifica¬ 
tion  for  his  work,  deserves  to  be  considered  as  indis¬ 
pensable  to  his  usefulness — as  that  without  which  in 
a  fair  degree,  every  other  sort  of  qualification  is  as 
“  sounding  brass  or  a  tinkling  cymbal” — is  not 
apt  to  be  proportioned  to  the  degree  of  his  mental 
powers. 

Among  the  great  names  that  adorn  the  annals  of 
the  Church,  the  greater  part  are  certainly  not  men 
whose  piety  has  kept  pace  with  their  other  endow¬ 
ments  ;  or,  to  speak  less  equivocally,  whose  piety  has 
been  of  the  apostolic  order.  Baxter,  Watts,  Dod¬ 
dridge,  Jeremy  Taylor,  Leighton,  Rutherford,  onr 
own  Edwards  and  Payson,  and  others  of  this  class, 
are  as  broadly  distinguished  in  respect  to  the  degree 
of  their  piety  from  many  distinguished  men  holding 


1IALL  AND  CHALMEKS. 


89 


tlie  ministerial  rank,  as  these  are  from  the  cold  for¬ 
malist  or  moralist.  The  ministry,  as  well  as  Chris¬ 
tians  generally,  are  too  prone  to  rest  content  with  a 
moderate  standard  of  piety,  as  though  that  set  np  by 
the  apostles  were  unattainable,  except  by  a  very  few. 
Few,  comparatively,  it  must  be  confessed,  have 
attained  it,  and  men  of  the  largest  endowments  the 
least  frequently  of  all ;  the  very  strength  and  com¬ 
pass  of  their  intellect  tending  to  render  them  self- 
reliant  and  vain-glorious,  in  opposition  to  that  teach¬ 
able  disposition  of  a  little  child,  without  possessing 
which,  heaven  is  lost — the  assiduity  of  the  pursuit  of 
knowledge  frequently  absorbing  the  mind  and  time 
to  such  a  degree  as  to  preclude  the  necessary  effort 
and  space  to  “  seek  first”  as  our  Lord  enjoins,  “  the 
kingdom  of  God  and  his  righteousness” — the  every¬ 
day  professional  familiarity  with  divine  truth,  result¬ 
ing  from  handling  and  comparing  it,  and  culling 
from  it  continually,  with  a  view  of  bringing  it  to 
bear  upon  the  minds  and  consciences  of  others ,  and 
growing  gradually  more  insensible  to  its  intrinsic 
power  and  application  to  the  individual  heart ; — 
these  are  among  the  reasons  why  many  exalted 
minds  in  the  ministry  fall  short  of  the  apostolic 
standard  of  spirituality,  contenting  themselves  with 
a  dull  mediocrity.  Ilence,  we  repeat,  that  great 


90 


HALL  AND  CHALMERS. 


powers  of  mind,  conjoined  to  lofty  piety,  is  a  specta¬ 
cle  as  rare  as  it  is  beautiful. 

In  tlie  subjects  of  tliis  sketch  we  see  this  rare  union 
in  its  fairest  colors.  Constant  and  close  communion 
with  Christ  was  the  breath  of  their  spiritual  life. 
They  loved,  with  John,  to  lean  upon  the  Master’s  bo¬ 
som,  and  drink  in  the  whispered  counsels  of  his  love. 
They  loved,  with  Mary,  to  seek  divine  wisdom  at  the 
Master’s  feet;  and  rising  from  this  lowly  attitude, 
they  went  forth,  strong  in  the  Lord,  to  the  duties  of 
their  ambassadorship,  ready,  and  rejoicing  to  convey 
to  other  minds  that  light  which  the  Holy  Ghost  had 
imparted  to  theirs.  This  ardent  piety  was  the  fruit 
of  cultivation.  It  was  watered  by  secret  tears.  It 
was  nourished  and  matured  by  the  earnest  self-com- 
munings,  the  sighs  of  penitence,  the  fervent  confes¬ 
sions  and  prayers  of  their  solitary  hours.  The  charm 
of  such  a  piety  is  indeed  attractive,  and  the  control 
it  exercises  over  minds  so  powerful  and  tempera¬ 
ments  so  ardent,  truly  wonderful.  "What  is  more 
beautiful,  for  instance,  than  to  hear  Mr.  Hall,  after 
being  greatly  excited  and  carried  beyond  himself  by 
some  warm  debate,  ejaculate,  in  accents  of  poignant 
contrition,  “Lamb  of  God,  Lamb  of  God,  calm  my 
perturbed  spirit?”  Or  to  see  him,  as  his  custom 
was,  kneeling  with  his  daughter  at  the  same  chair, 


HALL  AXTD  CHALMERS. 


91 


the  faces  of  both  Lathed  in  tears,  supplicating  the 
Divine  protection  and  blessing  on  her  as  she  was 
about  to  be  absent  for  a  season  from  home.  Or  to 
hear  his  earnest  voice,  as  his  family  often  did  in  pass¬ 
ing  his  study  door,  calling  the  individuals  of  his 
household  by  name  in  his  prayers  to  God  for  mercies 
on  them  all !  These  may  seem  unimportant  matters 
individually,  but  as  indications  of  character  and  the 
state  of  the  disposition  and  heart,  they  are  full  of  sig¬ 
nificance  and  weight. 

Read  the  sermons  of  Dr.  Chalmers — for  we  know 
less  from  actual  record  of  the  devotional  habits  of  the 
man — and  we  are  sure  that  the  fervor  of  devotional 
feeling  that  pervades  them  is  the  transcript  of  the 
preacher’s  experience.  Take,  for  instance,  the  ser¬ 
mon  entitled  “  Heaven  a  Character,  and  not  a  Loca¬ 
lity,”  the  scope  of  which  is  to  show  that  heaven 
must  exist  in  the  soul  of  man  on  earth,  if  ever  it 
exist  for  him  anywhere,  and  the  reading  of  it  will 
“  shut  us  up”  to  one  of  two  conclusions — either  that 
the  preacher  is  an  accomplished  hypocrite,  or  a  man 
of  ripe,  experimental  piety.  The  reader  may  make 
his  election  between  them.  For  ourselves,  the  evi¬ 
dence  of  the  devoted  cast  of  his  piety  furnished  by 
many  of  his  printed  discourses,  is  as  strong  as  we 
desire.  It  is  amply  satisfactory,  without  the  notices 


92 


HALL  AND  CHALMERS. 


to  this  effect  that  have  so  often  reached  ns  in  various 
authentic  forms — without  the  corroboration  afforded 
by  the  commanding  position  he  held  for  so  many 
years  in  his  own  church,  to  which  talent,  however 
exalted,  without  corresponding  piety,  could  never 
have  raised  him — without  the  last  touching  ejacula¬ 
tion  he  was  heard  to  breathe  before  he  slept  the 
sleep  of  death,  u  My  Father,  my  heavenly  Father,” 
so  significant  of  his  soul’s  close,  habitual  communion 
with  Him  in  wdiose  bosom  he  was  soon  to  rest  for 
ever.  Fie  was  a  good  man — a  devout,  God-fearing 
man.  So  were  they  both.  The  great  source  of  the 
strength  and  effect  of  their  splendid  ministry  is 
found,  beyond  a  question,  in  their  devoted  piety. 

Great  as  their  powers  were,  both  appeared  utterly 
unconscious  of  possessing  them,  as  they  stood  up  and 
uttered  the  messages  of  Christ  before  the  throngs 
whom  their  eloquence  attracted.  As  they  spoke,  the 
man  wTas  merged  and  lost  in  the  ambassador  to  the 
eyes  and  belief  of  all  who  hung  upon  their  accents. 
They  betrayed  no  consciousness  that  their  powers 
drew  the  crowds  before  them,  or  kept  them  breath¬ 
less  as  they  listened.  The  admiration  they  every¬ 
where  excited,  instead  of  calling  forth  fulsome  dis¬ 
plays  of  vanity — more  indecorous  and  out  of  place, 
Heaven  knows,  in  the  pulpit  than  almost  anywhere 


HALL  AXD  CHALMEKS. 


93 


besides,  yet  seen,  alas!  too  often  there- — had  no  effect 
to  blunt  the  sense  of  what  they  were  and  whom  they 
served,  or  cause  them  to  lose  sight  for  a  moment  of 
the  grand  end  and  true  character  of  the  preaching 
of  the  gospel.  The  height  of  their  elevation  could 
not  render  them  so  giddy  as  to  make  them  vain¬ 
glorious.  The  same  charming  modesty,  oblivion  of 
self — humility  the  greater  on  account  of  the  exal¬ 
tation  to  which  the  Master  saw  fit  to  raise  them — 
continued  to  shine  brighter  than  the  splendor  of  their 
eloquence,  and  undimmed  by  the  adulation  of  the 
world.  With  them  the  great  theme  was  everything, 
the  speaker  nothing.  It  filled  the  mind  and  heart  so 
completely  and  manifestly,  that  there  was  no  nook 
left  for  vanity  to  find  a  lodgment.  “  Ilis  absorption,” 
says  Mr.  Foster,  speaking  of  Mr.  Hall  while  preach¬ 
ing,  “  was  so  evident,  there  was  so  clear  an  absence 
of  everything  betraying  sign  of  vanity,  as  to  leave 
no  doubt,  that  reflection  on  himself — the  tacit 
thought,  ‘It  is  I  that  am  displaying  this  excellence 
of  speech,’ — was  the  faintest  action  of  his  mind. 
His  auditory  were  sure  that  it  was  as  in  relation 
to  his  subject,  and  not  to  himself,  that  he  regarded 
the  feelings  with  which  they  might  hear  him.”  The 
same  remarks  will  apply  to  Chalmers.  The  entire 
absorption  by  his  theme,  and  oblivion  of  self,  as  hav- 


94 


IIALL  AND  CHALMERS. 


ing  constituted  one  of  his  most  marked  character¬ 
istics,  even  in  a  greater  degree,  if  possible,  than  in 
the  case  of  Mr.  Hall,  is  so  well  known  as  to  need 
nothing  but  the  statement  of  the  fact.  If  ever  unin¬ 
spired  preacher  sank  the  man  in  the  “  legate  of  the 
skies,”  felt  his  own  personal  littleness  as  he  swelled 
with  the  loftiness  of  his  theme,  and  yielded  all  his 
powers  with  desperate  earnestness  to  the  work  of 
impressing  on  other  minds  the  truths  which  tilled 
and  roused  his  own,  he  is  the  man.  And  how  be¬ 
coming  to  the  preacher  is  such  a  consciousness ! 
How  wonderful  ought  its  absence  in  every  case  to  be 
regarded !  For  what  is  grander  or  more  awful  than 
to  preach  salvation  to  men  ?  The  reflection  of  the 
utter  unworthiness  of  “  flesh  and  blood  ”  to  do  it,  if 
it  were  felt  in  all  its  length  and  breadth,  would  be 
perfectly  overwhelming.  Paul’s  strong  expressions, 
“Oh,  wretched  man  that  I  am;”  “We  have  this 
treasure  in  earthen  vessels ;  ”  “  Who  is  sufficient  for 
these  things \  ”  “I  am  not  worthy  to  be  called  an 
apostle,”  show  what  thoughts  he  had  of  himself,  and 
what  of  the  dignity  and  responsibility  of  his  office. 
Again  and  again  does  he  present  the  theme  of  his 
utter  insignificance,  extolling  the  grace  of  God  which 
alone  made  him  what  he  was.  We  lose  sight  of  the 
man,  only  as  we  see  him  in  the  servant  and  ambas- 


HALL  AND  CHALMERS. 


95 


sador  of  Christ.  Such  a  disposition  in  the  preacher  is 
one  of  the  most  signal  triumphs  of  grace  over  natura 
corruption,  and  the  strongest  evidence  of  fitness  for 
his  work. 

The  applause  of  the  world  is  soothing  to  the  heart. 
Even  to  the  preacher  it  is  apt  to  be  vastly  refreshing 
to  hear  lavish  encomiums  bestowed  upon  the  compo¬ 
sition  or  delivery  of  his  sermons — to  have  the  matter, 
style,  force,  and  effect  of  his  pulpit  exercises  highly 
extolled.  And  there  are  few  churches,  perhaps,  in 
which  some  shallow,  though  well  disposed  saints,  may 
not  be  found  to  apply  the  spark  of  flattery  to  the 
tinder  of  the  heart’s  self-esteem,  injurious  in  most 
cases,  and  often  disastrous  to  the  young  man  whose 
firmness  is  inadequate  to  the  trial.  The  practice  can¬ 
not  be  too  loudly  condemned,  especially  where  the 
unwary  youth  is  the  subject  of  its  insidious  opera¬ 
tion.  What  sight  more  painful — say  to  angelic 
bosoms,  if  they  were  capable  of  feeling  pain — than 
that  of  a  man  invested  with  the  most  sacred  office 
that  a  mortal  can  hold,  whose  mission  is  to  win  souls 
to  Christ,  losing  sight  of  the  grand  aim  of  his  work, 
and  the  sentiments  and  feelings  which  can  alone  give 
it  dignity  and  success,  as  he  is  driven  smilingly,  and 
with  scarce  an  effort  to  resist,  before  the  light  breath 
of  popular  applause?  Among  those  earthly  spec- 


96 


HALL  AND  CHALMEKS. 


tacles  which,  are  said  to  make  angels  weep,  we  know 
not  a  more  sorrow-moving  one  than  this. 

But  if  to  resist  wiles  coming  in  so  insidious  a  form, 
to  oppose  them  at  the  outset,  and  inflexibly,  be  a 
most  difficult  achievement,  not  simply  for  the  young 
preacher,  but  for  him  of  maturer  powers  and  riper 
experience — if  the  whispers  of  applause  can  gain  a 
lodgment,  and  make  a  breach  in  the  hearts  of  men 
not  possessed  of  powers  to  distinguish  them  greatly 
from  others,  or  where  they  fail  to  do  this,  a  signal 
victory  over  temptation  is  won,  and  a  high  state  of 
spirituality  in  the  victor  shown — what  must  we  say 
of  victory  in  such  a  contest  achieved  by  men  really 
and  greatly  superior  to  others — though  men  not  ex¬ 
empt  from  the  infirmities  “  which  flesh  is  heir  to  ” — to 
whose  senses  the  incense  of  admiration  and  praise 
was  constantly  wafted  from  the  speaking  countenan¬ 
ces  of  the  multitudes  who  hung  upon  their  accents. 
The  struggle  would  be  sterner,  the  danger  more  im¬ 
minent,  but  victory  more  signal  and  decisive.  Such 
are  precisely  the  victories  which  these  illustrious  men 
achieved.  Their  humility  exalts  them  more  than 
their  extraordinary  powers.  Happy  for  the  ministry, 
happy  for  the  Church  and  for  the  world,  did  shep¬ 
herd  and  flock,  in  each  department  of  Zion,  tread 
more  closely  in  the  footsteps  of  such  an  example. 


HALL  AND  CHALMERS. 


97 


We  love  to  trace  a  resemblance  between  tliese 
good  and  great  men,  in  wliat  we  venture  to  call  an 
absence  of  artificiality  in  delivery  of  their  sermons. 
Both  possessed  a  wizard’s  power  over  the  audi¬ 
ences  that  filled  the  churches  where  they  preached. 
Among  Mr.  Hall’s  hearers  were  to  be  found  the  most 
intellectual  people  in  England,  who  found  their  way 
to  Leicester  or  Bristol,  often  from  a  considerable  dis¬ 
tance,  expressly  to  hear  him,  and  who  bore  a  nearly 
uniform  testimony  to  his  commanding  powers.  An 
honored  minister  of  our  own  country  informed  the 
writer  of  this,  that  he  had  the  pleasure,  several  years 
ago,  being  on  a  visit  to  England,  to  hear  Mr.  Hall  in 
his  own  chapel.  He  represented  the  single  sermon 
he  heard  as  being  richly  worth  a  voyage  across  the 
Atlantic.  Nothing,  he  remarked,  during  the  first 
fifteen  minutes  of  his  preaching,  was  discernible  in 
his  discourse,  either  in  matter  or  manner,  which, 
divorced  from  the  name  of  Bobert  Hall,  would  have 
been  thought  at  all  extraordinary.  But  then  a  sud¬ 
den  change  passed  upon  the  preacher.  He  seemed 
a  different  man  from  what  he  had  been,  so  complete 
was  the  transformation.  And  rising  and  glowing  as 
his  subject  expanded  before  him,  his  rapid,  burning 
words  fell  like  a  succession  of  thunderclaps  upon 
his  audience  till  he  closed.  Our  informant  declared 

5 


98 


IIALL  AND  CHALMERS. 


liimself  glad — he  experienced  a  feeling  of  relief — • 
when  the  preacher  ended,  for  the  shocks  were  too 
frequent  and  heavy  to  he  much  longer  endured. 
Such  was  the  effect  produced  upon  one,  himself  an 
excellent  judge  of  eloquence,  on  hearing  him  for  the 
first  time.  Dr.  Chalmers  was  not  less  forcible  and 
overwhelming.  Few  preachers  ever  possessed  a 
vehemence  and  energy  so  telling  upon  an  audience, 
lie  held  his  hearers  spell-hound,  as  with  a  giant’s 
tread  he  strode  onward  with  an  impetuosity  which 
nothing  might  withstand.  Once  fairly  kindled  in  his 
theme,  wrapt  up  in  it,  the  lightning  flashed  and  the 
thunder  rolled,  while  the  effect  was  visible  in  the 
breathless  interest,  the  flowing  tears,  the  awe-struck 
faces  of  those  who  heard  him. 

How  what  was  the  secret  of  this  amazing  power? 
Was  it  the  importance  of  the  subject,  the  loftiness 
or  vigor  of  the  thoughts,  the  originality  or  splendor 
of  the  composition  ?  All  these  have  existed  in  equal 
completeness,  perhaps,  in  other  preachers,  who  have 
yet  failed  to  make  any  particularly  strong  impres¬ 
sion  on  their  hearers,  who  at  least  have  never  been 
run  after  as  men  of  commanding  and  extraordinary 
eloquence.  With  a  dull,  tame  delivery,  the  dis¬ 
courses  of  Hall  and  Chalmers  would  read  as  well  as 
they  now  do,  but  their  fame  as  preachers  had  never 


HALL  AND  CIIALMEES. 


99 


been  achieved.  There  is  something  potent,  then, 
about  delivery.  The  greatest  of  ancient  orators 
assigned  to  this  the  first,  second,  and  third  rank  in 
the  order  of  qualities  requisite  for  eloquence.  The 
men  in  question  were  great  in  the  thoughts  of  their 
compositions,  but  it  was  necessary  to  be  great  in 
delivery  also,  before  they  could  become  world- 
renowned  as  preachers.  The  stalest  common-places 
are  often  redeemed  from  insipidity  and  rendered 
even  impressive,  as  most  have  had  occasion  to  ob¬ 
serve,  by  a  forcible  manner  of  utterance ;  while, 
these  lacking,  discourses  really  of  a  superior  order, 
embodying  the  strongest  efforts  of  the  mind,  are 
received  with  listless  indifference.  The  great  orator 
of  antiquity  was,  therefore,  not  far  from  right  in  the 
stress  he  laid  on  delivery.  This  must  be  present  in 
eloquence,  in  at  least  a  fair  degree  of  excellence, 
whatever  else  is  absent.  Without  it,  strength  of 
thought,  a  vivid  imagination,  elegance  of  diction, 
however  valuable,  pass  for  nothing  like  their  real 
worth.  It  is  only  where  they  are  joined,  as  they 
were  in  Hall  and  Chalmers,  to  overpowering  energy 
in  the  delivery,  that  the  great  effect  is  witnessed — an 
effect  for  the  most  part  proportioned  to  the  degree 
of  harmony  and  completeness  in  which  these  ele¬ 
ments  are  mingled. 


100 


IIALL  AND  CHALMERS. 


How  wliat  we  say  is,  tliat  in  neither  of  these  won¬ 
derful  preachers  do  we  discover  anything  labored  or 
artificial  in  the  manner  of  their  pnlpit  utterance. 
They  seem  to  have  heartily  despised  the  aid  of  mere¬ 
tricious  adornments  in  giving  effect  to  their  words. 
All  is  simple,  unstudied,  natural.  Our  opinion  of 
the  men,  it  seems  to  us,  would  undergo  a  sudden  and 
painful  change,  if  the  conviction  were  forced  on  us, 
that  much  of  their  attention  and  time  had  been 
given  to  the  work  of  appearing  well  before  an  audi¬ 
ence.  We  could  not  believe,  without  a  revulsion  of 
feeling  towards  them,  that  they  labored  much  so  to 
pronounce  and  accentuate  and  make  their  gestures, 
as  not  to  offend  the  fastidious  taste ;  that,  in  a  word, 
they  were  studious  of  acquiring  the  graces  of  a 
polished  elocution.  W e  have  gauged  the  men  amiss, 
if  taste  and  habit,  the  very  structure  of  their  mind, 
masculine  and  robust,  did  not  impel  them  to  regard 
as  mere  trickery  and  gewgaw  in  the  preacher,  what 
was  artificial,  and  designed  simply  for  the  eye. 
They  were  men  of  large,  open,  honest  hearts,  acting 
without  disguise,  without  desire  chiefly  to  please 
men,  anxious  above  all  to  tell  the  truth,  that  the 
conscience  might  he  reached  and  roused,  and  the 
soul  saved.  It  is  no  undue  exaltation  to  place  them 
in  this  respect  side  by  side  with  Luther,  Zuingle, 


IIALL  AXTD  CH ALGIERS. 


101 


Calvin,  Ivnox — of  the  first  of  whom  Thomas  Carlyle 
thus  speaks,  and  the  words  may  serve  as  a  general 
portrait  of  the  whole  :  “  I  will  call  this  Luther  a  true 
great  man — great  in  intellect,  in  courage,  in  affection, 
in  integrity — great,  not  as  a  hewn  obelisk,  but  as  an 
Alpine  mountain,  so  simple,  honest,  spontaneous,  not 
setting  up  to  be  great  at  all”  We  adopt  this  without 
erasing  a  word,  as  a  true  description  of  Hall  and 
Chalmers  in  the  pulpit.  They  were  “so  simple, 
honest,  spontaneous”  there,  seeking  not  from  the 
schools  the  adventitious  aids  of  a  polished  or  effec¬ 
tive  oratory,  on  which  so  much  stress  is  laid  and 
labor  bestowed  by  others.  They  elaborated  their 
theme,  it  is  true  ;  but  then  standing  up,  they  left  it  to 
nature  and  the  heart’s  feelings  Jo  bring  it  out  effec¬ 
tively.  Hot  a  gesture  studied,  not  a  look  or  an  atti¬ 
tude  assumed — nothing  in  the  whole  manner  put  on 
for  effect — they  yet  came  out  with  a  vehemence  and 
power,  the  result  of  strong  internal  workings,  that 
produced  an  irresistible  effect.  Compared  with 
these,  the  mere  orator  of  motion,  sound,  and  the 
graces,  is  as  the  beacon  on  the  hill-top  beside  those 
living,  rolling,  spontaneous  fires  which  Vesuvius 
belches  from  its  bosom. 

Hot  that  a  finished  elocution,  the  work  in  great 
measure  of  art  and  toil,  is  to  be  decried  as  a  worth- 


102 


IIALL  AND  CHALMERS. 


less  thing.  It  may  merit  all  the  pains  that  many  take 
to  acquire  it.  Certainly,  in  the  absence  of  higher 
endowments  requisite  to  move  an  audience,  it  may 
subserve  the  useful  purpose  of  keeping  out  of  view 
those  deficiencies,  which  but  for  it  would  stand  con¬ 
fessed.  The  proper  mode  of  raising  the  arm,  of  dis¬ 
posing  the  fingers  of  the  hand,  of  varying  their 
motions,  of  conveying  impressiveness  to  the  aspect 
and  grace  to  the  attitude,  of  throwing  force  or  pathos 
into  the  voice,  and  nicely  regulating  all  its  articula¬ 
tions,  is  no  doubt  worthy  to  receive  the  preacher’s 
most  profound  and  laborious  attention.  All  is  proper 
and  useful  if  it  really  increase  the  effect  of  his  words 
upon  the  heart  and  conscience.  But  to  do  this  the 
appearance  of  art  must  be  concealed.  If  his  indus¬ 
try  in  this  department  shine  through  his  performance, 
he  will  be  fortunate  if  the  sacred  place  where  he 
stands,  and  the  sober  matters  of  which  he  treats,  save 
him  from  the  pity  or  contempt  of  the  staid  portion 
of  his  hearers.  Few  things  are  more  utterly  nauseous 
and  offensive  to  the  heart  of  piety,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  world’s  opinions  on  the  subject — than  a  mere 
pulpit  display,  where  each  word,  look,  and  gesture 
betrays  the  labor  to  show  off.  Without  decrying  art 
as  a  most  useful  adjuvant  to  the  preacher,  we  love 
nature  in  the  pulpit  better,  in  all  the  roughness  of 


HALL  AND  CHALMEKS. 


103 


her  attire.  There  is  a  majesty,  a  sturdy  strength 
about  her,  which,  while  it  cannot  be  mistaken  or 
disguised,  imparts  additional  dignity  and  robustness 
to  the  strong  thought  or  glowing  sentiment.  The 
position  of  the  preacher  and  the  circumstances  under 
which  he  appears  before  men,  would  seem  to  render 
a  recourse  to  art,  to  enforce  his  words,  unnecessary — • 
would  seem  enough  to  impart  to  his  words  and  man¬ 
ner  the  glow  of  intense  feeling  and  earnestness,  the 
highest  requisite  of  eloquence.  It  is  this  earnestness 
which  genuine  feeling  can  alone  produce  in  its  native 
strength,  that  the  preacher  too  often  lacks.  Hence 
the  tameness  that  marks  the  delivery,  and  the  indif¬ 
ference  that  marks  the  reception  of  so  many  excel¬ 
lent  discourses.  The  reply  which  Garrick  is  said  to 
have  returned  to  a  certain  Lord  Bishop  is  anything 
but  pointless.  “  How  is  it  that  you  actors  so  affect 
your  audiences,  moving  them  to  tears  with  mere  fic¬ 
tion,  while  we,  who  utter  the  most  important  truths, 
are  listened  to  with  apathy  ?”  u  Because,”  replied 
the  great  tragedian,  “  we  make  fiction  appear  as 
truth  ;  you  make  truth  appear  as  fiction.”  It  is  but 
here  and  there  at  long  intervals  that  a  Garrick 
springs  up,  with  skill  to  make  fiction  appear  as  truth, 
but  many,  alas  !  succeed  more  easily  in  making  truth 
appear  as  fiction.  Happy  for  the  pulpit  if  a  Gar- 


104 


HALL  AND  CHALMEES. 


rick’s  power  to  move  conld  be  transferred  there 
without  the  Garrick — that  is,  the  actor’s  skill  and 
power  without  the  actor .  The  truths  spoken  there 
certainly  deserve  to  be  uttered,  and  should  be  uttered, 
with  a  power  far  surpassing  the  most  forceful  utter¬ 
ance  of  fiction.  This  may  not  be  without  the  fire 
from  heaven.  Not  all,  like  Hall  and  Chalmers,  can 
draw  this  fire  from  its  hidden  source.  Strange  fire 
may  be  resorted  to  by  those  who  feel  their  lack  of 
the  true,  and  would  supply  it.  But  the  contrast 
between  them  must  ever  be  palpable  and  strong.  It 
is  the  living  fire,  glowing  in  the  preacher’s  eye, 
quivering  on  his  lips,  informing  each  look  and  tone 
of  motion,  before  whose  presence  rapt  audiences, 
which  would  not  be  charmed  by  any  less  potent 
charmer,  have  bowed  and  melted  in  all  times. 

We  pass  from  these  resemblances  to  notice  as 
briefly  as  we  may,  one  or  two  other  qualities  in  these 
distinguished  preachers,  in  which  contrast  rather 
than  resemblance  is  to  be  marked.  If  their  delivery 
was  eminently  inartificial,  the  style  of  their  composi¬ 
tion  has  very  little  of  this  character.  The  works 
which  follow  them  are  not  destined  speedily  to  die. 
They  have  long  held  a  distinguished  rank  among  the 
most  admired  and  eloquent  productions  of  the  pul¬ 
pit.  "With  widely  different  characteristics  we  dis- 


HALL  AND  CHALMERS. 


105 


cern  in  each  glowing  page  the  hand  of  a  master. 
W e  assign  them  no  obscure  nook  on  our  bookshelves, 
hut  place  them  involuntarily  side  by  side  with  those 
favorite  divines  whose  works  we  “  delight  to  honor.” 
That  the  judgment  of  posterity  in  regard  to  much 
of  what  we  admire  in  their  writings,  will  undergo 
no  change,  it  wmdd  be  rash,  perhaps,  to  assert.  But 
we  have  little  doubt  that  after  the  severest  sifting 
much  will  still  remain  that  can  only  perish,  when 
this  species  of  literature  ceases  to  be  read. 

The  sermons  of  Mr.  Hall — those  prepared  by  him" 
self  for  the  press — have  suffered  no  injury  as  yet 
from  the  ordeal  through  which  they  have  passed. 
We  cannot  fail,  as  we  read  them,  to  be  struck  with 
the  severe  labor  their  preparation  must  have  cost 
him,  taking  into  account  only  the  mechanical  part  of 
their  execution.  To  say  nothing  of  the  noble 
thoughts  which  pervade  them,  each  word  is  carefully 
chosen ;  each  period  and  member  of  it  adjusted 
and  finished  with  the  most  scrupulous  elaboration. 
He  could  not  polish  enough  what  he  intended  for  the 
public  eye.  “  He  had  formed  for  himself,”  says  Hr. 
Gregory,  “  an  ideal  standard  of  excellence  which 
could  not  be  reached.  His  perception  of  beauty  in 
composition  was  so  delicate  and  refined,  that  in  re¬ 
gard  to  his  productions  it  engendered  perhaps  a  fas- 

5* 


10G 


HALL  AND  CIIALMEES. 


tidious  taste.  And  deep  and  prevailing  as  was  Ids 
humility,  lie  was  not  insensible  to  the  value  of  a  high 
reputation,  and  therefore  cautiously  guarded  against 
the  risk  of  diminishing  his  usefulness  among  certain 
classes  of  readers,  by  consigning  any  production  to 
the  world  that  had  not  been  thoroughly  subjected  to 
the  labor  limce.  Hence  the  extreme  slowness  with 
which  he  composed  for  the  press ;  writing,  im¬ 
proving,  rejecting  the  improvement,  seeking  another, 
rejecting  it,  re-casting  whole  sentences  and  pages, 
often  recurring  precisely  to  the  original  phraseology, 
and  still  oftener  repenting  when  it  was  too  late,  that 
he  had  not  done  so.”  This  uncommon  scrupulosity 
is  apparent  in  all  his  discourses  prepared  for  the 
press.  The  labor  required  thus  to  finish  them,  may 
seem  to  many  unnecessarily  severe.  But  the  fruit 
of  it  is  some  of  the  most  elegant  and  highly  finished 
discourses  ever  given  to  the  world.  Take  the  sermon 
on  “  Modern  Infidelity,”  the  one  entitled  “  Reflections 
on  War,”  that  on  the  “  Discouragements  and  Sup¬ 
ports  of  the  Christian  Minister,”  and  that  on  the 
“Death  of  the  Princess  Charlotte,”  the  most  ex¬ 
quisitely  finished,  perhaps,  of  all  his  discourses,  and 
where  shall  we  find,  in  the  compass  of  the  English 
language,  as  many  sermons,  the  product  of  one  mind, 
that  in  respect  to  composition,  to  say  nothing  of 


HALL  AND  CIIALMEDS. 


107 


otlier  and  higher  qualities,  may  he  said  fairly  to  rival 
them?  The  compositions  of  Mr.  ITall  have  been 
placed  by  one  of  his  warmest  admirers  even  higher 
than  those  of  Addison,  in  respect  to  the  purity  of 
their  diction  and  exquisiteness  of  their  finish.  It 
may  be  so.  But  no  candid  admirer,  however  ardent, 
will  refuse  to  admit,  that  this  very  nicety  of  elabo¬ 
ration  is  a  serious  blemish,  compared  with  the  easy, 
graceful  flow  of  the  sentences  of  the  latter,  who  had 
no  horror  of  ending  his  periods  with  an  insignificant 
word,  when  he  found  it  desirable.  Unlike  Mr.  Hall, 
lie  chose  to  retain  the  easy  and  the  natural  in  his 
style,  even  at  the  sacrifice  of  the  sonorous.  If  he 
lost  anything  in  this  way  in  dignity,  as  he  certainly 
lost  little  in  elegance,  he  made  amends  for  it  in 
increased  strength.  The  general  effect  of  Mr.  Hall’s 
sentences  would  be  greatly  enhanced,  if  their  for¬ 
mality  and  stateliness  were  somewhat  abated — were 
they  formed  a  little  more  after  the  Addisonian 
model.  We  grow  weary  in  tracing  from  page  to 
page  so  unbroken  a  succession  of  elaborately  rounded 
periods.  The  very  monotony  of  so  stately  a  style 
leads  us  to  sigh  for  something  more  unstudied — so 
that  after  reading  one  of  his  discourses,  magnificent 
though  it  be,  we  turn  to  one  by  Atterbury  or  Leigh¬ 
ton,  feeling  the  same  kind  of  relief  by  the  transition, 


108 


HALL  AND  CHALMERS. 


that  would  be  felt  in  passing  from  the  highly- 
wronglit  pages  of  Gibbon  to  those  of  Robertson  or 
Hume. 

The  style'  of  Chalmers,  great  and  glaring  as  its 
faults  are,  is  certainly  less  objectionable  on  the  score 
of  excessive  nicety  of  finish.  If  TIall  erred  in 
bestowing  too  much  pains  upon  his  sentences,  he  errs 
as  manifestly,  and  a  good  deal  less  excusably,  in 
bestowing  too  little.  As  respects  the  elements  of  a 
good  style,  the  latter  will  bear  no  comparison  with 
the  former.  It  has  features,  however,  marked  and 
peculiar  to  itself.  In  fact,  it  is  a  style  as  completely 
sui  generis  as  any  that  we  have  ever  met.  Given 
anonymously,  a  dozen  sentences  taken  at  random 
from  any  of  his  sermons,  to  a  person  at  all  familiar 
with  what  he  has  written,  and  he  must  be  a  bungler 
indeed,  if  he  fail  to  identify  their  author.  There  is 
the  exuberance  of  words  bearing  a  slight  proportion 
to  the  ideas  which  they  embody.  There  is  the  same 
idea  repeated,  turned  round  again  and  again,  and 
presented  at  each  successive  turn,  like  the  ever- 
varying  images  in  the  kaleidoscope — to  use  Mr. 
Hall’s  expressive  simile — under  a  new  and  beautiful 
form.  There  is  a  “  rhetorical  march,  a  sonorous 
pomp,  a  showy  sameness,”  faults  which  cannot  be 
imputed  to  the  style  of  the  other.  The  words  are 


IIALL  AND  CHALMERS. 


109 


not  always  the  most  happily  chosen.  Words  indeed 
occur,  whose  use  it  would  he  hard  to  justify  on  an'y 
principles  of  rhetorical  propriety  or  correct  taste. 
Fantastic,  uncouth  words,  downright  Chalmerisms, 
meet  us  not  unfrequently,  to  many  of  which,  how¬ 
ever,  as  in  Carlyle’s  very  dissimilar  phraseology,  we 
cannot  refuse  to  yield  the  credit  of  possessing  ex¬ 
treme  aptitude  and  force.  A  whole  page  and  more 
the  reader  is  forced  to  struggle  over,  sometimes, 
before  he  reaches  the  breathing-place  of  a  full  pause. 
From  all  which  wre  infer,  though  we  remember  not 
to  have  seen  it  stated  authoritatively,  that,  like  his 
gifted  countryman,  Sir  Walter  Scott,  his  habit  was 
to  write  currente  calamo ,  with  extreme  rapidity,  and 
that  what  was  thus  written  was  seldom  destined  to 
be  re-written,  or  even  subjected  to  a  very  searching 
revision.  Be  this  as  it  may,  the  sentences  so  abound 
with  redundancies,  that  the  aid  of  the  pruning-knife 
must  have  been  very  sparingly  applied.  A  moiety 
of  the  pains  expended  on  the  compositions  of  Mr. 
Hall,  had  made  them  immeasurably  titter  for  the 
public  eye. 

Yet  his  style,  with  all  its  defects,  has  an  inde¬ 
finable  attraction.  There  is  about  it  a  glow,  a  rich¬ 
ness  of  coloring,  a  frequent  happy  combination  of 
words,  a  copiousness  of  diction,  and  above  all  an 


110 


HALL  AND  CHALMERS. 


aspect  of  intense  earnestness,  which  taken  altoge¬ 
ther,  force  ns  to  follow  it  with  interest  and  pleasure. 
We  remember  no  instance  in  any  other  preacher, 
where  the  glow  of  earnestness  that  lit  up  the  eye  of 
the  orator  is  so  happily  transferred  to  paper  in 
“  words  that  burn,”  and  communicated  to  the  mind 
and  heart  of  the  reader.  And  we  will  venture  to  de¬ 
clare — though  the  confession  may  stamp  us  as  sadly 
deficient  in  taste  and  judgment — that  when  disposed 
to  devote  an  hour  or  so  to  the  reading  of  sermons, 
we  feel  strongly  inclined  to  give  Chalmers  the  pre¬ 
ference  to  Hall.  Mr.  Foster  remarks,  in  his  criticism 
on  Blair’s  sermons,  that  when  about  to  peruse  a  ser¬ 
mon,  the  reader  turns  instinctively  to  the  end,  to  see 
the  number  of  pages  it  contains.  If  this  remark  be 
just,  and  he  appeals  to  each  reader’s  experience  for 
the  truth  of  it,  nothing  will  be  found  in  the  number 
of  pages  in  Chalmers’s  discourses  to  startle  him, 
which  cannot  always  be  said  in  regard  to  those  of 
Hall.  Mr.  Hazlitt  assures  us  that  he  read  the 
entire  series  of  “  Astronomical  Discourses  ”  through, 
with  unflagging  interest  and  at  a  single  sitting. 
Many  readers  will  bear  a  similar  testimony,  as  the 
result  of  their  own  experience.  But  we  doubt 
greatly  whether  any  reader  ever  achieved  a  similar 
number  of  Hall’s  discourses  with  similar  perse- 


IIALL  AND  CHALMERS. 


nr 


verance,  or  would  have  done  so  had  the  number  of 
pages  been  nearly  equal  in  both.  We  take  up  a 
volume  of  Chalmers  on  miscellaneous  subjects  now, 
and  such  is  the  splendor  of  the  diction,  the  play  of 
the  fancy,  the  felicitousness  of  illustration,  the  ani¬ 
mation  and  energy  that  pervade  the  breathing 
pages,  that  we  feel  borne  along,  as  on  the  bosom  of 
some  resistless  torrent,  that,  disdainful  of  all  ob¬ 
stacles,  rushes  along  to  disembogue  itself,  until, 
before  our  interest  flags  or  our  attention  grows  weary, 
sermon  after  sermon  has  been  begun  and  ended.  It 
is  easy,  indeed,  to  criticise  a  style  like  this ;  to  point 
out  particular  faults  and  blemishes ;  but  where  an 
effect  of  this  kind  is  produced,  so  superior  to  that  ordi¬ 
narily  produced  by  the  most  admired  writings  of  this 
sort — there  must  be  merit  of  a  high  and  commanding 
kind.  The  particular  defects  are  merged  and  lost  in 
the  general  blaze  of  excellence. 

Such  being  the  general  features  of  their  style,  any  . 
comparison  between  them,  in  respect  to  condensation 
of  thought,  must  result  greatly  to  the  advantage  of 
Mr.  Hall.  We  have  read  writings  more  unsparingly 
pruned  than  his  of  everything  redundant,  where  the 
thoughts  of  the  writer  were  expressed,  and  com¬ 
pletely  expressed,  without  the  least  obscurity  or  am¬ 
biguity,  and  at  the  same  time  without  the  least  at- 


112 


HALL  AND  CHALMERS. 


tention  paid  to  ornament.  “  Butler’s  Analogy”  may 
be  cited  as  an  example,  a  model  work  of  this  sort  of 
composition,  where  language  is  used  for  no  other 
purpose  than  simply  to  convey  thought.  But  while 
Mr.  Hall  falls  far  short  of  him  in  this  respect,  as 
every  writer  must  who  pays  so  much  attention  to 
the  structure  of  his  sentences,  it  must  be  conceded 
that  he  has  very  high  merit  in  this  respect.  Barely, 
indeed,  may  a  sentence  be  found  which  would  be 
bettered  by  being  pared,  or  in  which  the  vigor  of 
the  thought  is  sacrificed  to  the  beauty  of  the  lan¬ 
guage.  In  a  style  so  ornate,  this  is  indeed  wonder¬ 
ful.  Each  thought  is  fitly,  fully,  and  energetically, 
as  well  as  beautifully  expressed.  This  is  owing  in 
part  to  his  evident  mastery  over  language.  Hot  the 
slaves  of  the  lamp  in  the  Eastern  tale  were  more  ob¬ 
sequious  to  their  master’s  will.  It  comes  at  his  call 
and  performs  his  bidding,  which  is,  not  to  divert  at¬ 
tention,  by  its  glare  or  splendor,  from  barren  thought, 
but  to  act  as  the  most  proper  medium  for  conveying 
thought  that  is  really  solid  and  profound.  We  are 
acquainted  with  no  modern  divine  in  whose  writings 
what  is  massive  and  precious  is  blended  in  such  just 
proportions  with  what  is  ornamental.  So  that  we 
hardly  know  which  most  to  admire  in  his  discourses, 
the  vigor  and  compactness  of  the  thoughts,  or  the 


II ALL  AND  CHALMERS-. 


113 


sparkling  and  beautiful  medium  through  which  they 
are  conveyed. 

Ilis  immeasurable  superiority  to  Chalmers,  in  re¬ 
spect  to  conciseness,  may  be  strikingly  seen  by  bring¬ 
ing  together  the  sermon  of  each  on  the  death  of  the 
Princess  Charlotte.  That  of  Dr.  Chalmers  was  writ¬ 
ten,  as  he  tells  us,  under  circumstances  which  pre¬ 
cluded  even  the  ordinary  amount  of  care  in  its  pre¬ 
paration,  and  therefore  is  not  to  be  regarded  as  a 
fair  sample  of  his  powers.  Mr.  Hall’s,  on  the  con¬ 
trary,  bears  internal  evidence  of  having  received  the 
most  scrupulous  attention  before  it  was  given  to  the 
world.  It  is,  in  truth,  a  master-piece,  sufficient  in 
itself  to  stamp  immortality  upon  its  author.  Bring 
the  two  together,  though  for  the  reasons  stated  the 
comparison  is  hardly  fair,  and  the  degree  of  merit 
possessed  by  each  in  respect  to  condensation  will  be 
apparent.  Few  contrasts  can  be  stronger  than  that 
between  the  diffusiveness  of  the  one,  and  the  com¬ 
pactness  of  the  other.  "We  rise  from  the  perusal  of 
the  one  with  a  feeling  very  like  mortification,  cer¬ 
tainly  disappointment,  in  our  expectations  of  what 
the  occasion  and  the  man  should  have  produced — • 
from  that  of  the  other,  with  the  impression  that  no 
great  occasion,  like  that  which  shrouded  a  nation  in 
mourning,  was  ever  improved  by  a  more  solemn, 


114 


HALL  AND  CHALMERS. 


dignified,  and  weighty  religious  service  ;  one  calcu¬ 
lated  to  produce  a  more  salutary  and  lasting  influ¬ 
ence  upon  all  classes  of  society. 

Both  these  great  preachers  possess  rare  merit  in 
the  conduct  of  their  discourses.  Mr.  Hall’s  subject 
has  evidently  taken  full  possession  of  his  mind,  is 
broadly  delineated  there,  in  all  its  harmonious  pro¬ 
portions,  before  he  gives  it  expression.  In  the  dis¬ 
cussion  of  it,  he  presents  for  the  most  part  two  or 
three  points,  the  dependence  of  which  is  clear,  and 
leading  to  the  most  obvious  conclusions.  These  are 
sometimes  divided  into  subordinate  branches,  but 
the  unique  of  the  argument  is  so  preserved,  that  the 
mind  of  hearer  or  reader  is  in  no  danger  of  being 
distracted  by  a  multiplicity  of  topics,  some  of  which 
seem  no  wny  related  to  each  other.  This  is  the  fault 
of  many  of  the  old  divines — and  truth  to  say,  some 
modern  ones  have  not  escaped  it — of  crowding  a 
multitude  of  topics,  some  of  them  irrelevant  or  far¬ 
fetched,  into  a  single  discourse,  as  though  its  excel¬ 
lence  must  be  in  exact  proportion  to  the  number  of 
points  embraced.  We  greatly  admire  the  ingenuity 
displayed  by  many  of  these  fathers  and  great  men  in. 
the  Church  in  their  pulpit  exercitations,  but  we  can¬ 
not  fail  to  remember  that  their  hearers  were  but 
men;  that  the  memory  of  ordinary  mortals  is  not 


IIALL  AND  CHALMERS. 


115 


infinitely  retentive ;  that  wliat  is  not  retained,  is  no 
better  tlian  a  waste  of  labor  and  of  words — vox  sparsa 
in  auris — tliat,  in  short,  to  bewilder  the  mind,  by 
placing  too  many  good  things  before  it,  can  scarcely 
be  expected  to  nourish  it  more,  than  the  various  de¬ 
licacies  of  the  table  can  the  body  which  they  fill  to 
repletion.  Two  or  three,  or  even  four  points,  seem 
sufficient,  without  many  subdivisions,  for  the  most 
part,  for  the  discussion  of  any  single  topic  that  may 
task  the  preacher’s  powers,  at  least  on  any  single 
occasion.  The  most  admired  sermonizers  seldom,  it 
will  be  found,  have  taken  more.  Mr.  Hall  found 
these  sufficient  to  give  form  and  expression  to  the 
most  brilliant  and  elaborate  of  his  discourses.  Dr. 
Chalmers  employs,  for  the  most  part,  fewer  still.  In 
each  discourse  he  has  a  single  point  that  he  desires 
to  illustrate  and  enforce.  In  most  of  his  sermons, 
not  more  than  two  formal  divisions  will  be  found. 
The  leading  topic  of  his  discourse  is  brought  out 
again  and  again,  is  held  up  to  view  in  various  at¬ 
tractive  and  striking  forms,  is  presented  with  a  clear¬ 
ness  and  urged  home  with  a  power,  that  force  the 
most  unobservant  to  apprehend  it,  and  the  most  sto¬ 
lid  to  feel.  Forgiving  to  each  sermon  a  broad  indi¬ 
viduality,  for  so  distinguishing  from  all  others  his 
one  grand  idea,  illustrated  by  the  greatest  variety  of 


116 


IIALL  AJSTD  CHALMERS. 


otlier  ideas  and  images,  all  tending  to  fix  his  conclu¬ 
sions  firmly  in  tlie  mind,  lie  has  no  superior,  and  we 
know  of  no  man  that  may  he  fairly  called  his  equal. 
This  has  been  called  a  great  defect.  u  His  mind 
turns  as  on  a  pivot,”  it  has  been  said ;  “  there  is  revo¬ 
lution  without  progress.”  We  could  never  feel  the 
force  of  tills  criticism.  For  as  we  have  followed 
him,  we  have  found  light  dawn  upon  and  conviction 
fastened  on  us,  as  in  each  revolution  we  have  met 
the  constant  evidence  of  progress.  There  is  revolu¬ 
tion,  but  it  is  that  of  the  wheels  of  an  ocean  steamer, 
each  one  of  which,  in  spite  of  wind  and  waves,  urges 
the  vessel  nearer  to  the  destined  port.  The  very 
amplification  of  his  theme,  the  repetition  of  the  same 
idea,  has  the  effect  in  his  case  of  impressing  that 
idea  with  a  force  which  nothing  can  resist  or  evade. 

The  propriety  of  using  written  sermons  in  the 
pulpit,  a  question  on  which  much  breath  has  been 
spent  and  some  paper  wasted,  may  not  be  thought 
too  trivial  to  receive  a  little  attention  in  connexion 
with  the  distinguished  subjects  of  this  very  imper¬ 
fect  sketch.  Mr.  Hall,  it  is  well  known,  never  used 
them.  "While  Dr.  Chalmers  read  so  closely  that  his 
left  hand  was  for  the  most  part  useless  as  an  aid 
to  gesture,  the  fore-finger  of  it  being  employed  in 
tracing  the  lines  of  his  manuscript.  Ho  thing  appears 


HALL  AND  CHALMERS. 


117 


to  ns  more  absurd  and  puerile  than  sober  contro¬ 
versy  about  the  use  or  disuse  of  notes,  as  a  matter 
of  propriety  or  duty.  It  were  no  doubt  well,  if  all 
preachers  had  the  faculty  of  addressing  their  fellow- 
men  with  point  and  effect  without  the  use  of 
the  manuscript.  ¥e  find  no  trouble  in  con¬ 
ceding  this  to  have  been  the  apostolic  mode,  and 
that  for  obvious  reasons.  But  we  hold  the  prej  udice 
against  them  in  certain  quarters  to  be  as  stupid  as  it 
is  ridiculous.  If  we  look  at  the  subjects  which  the 
preacher  is  expected  to  discuss  Sunday  after  Sunday, 
we  shall  see  at  once  how  widely  different  their 
character  is  from  that  of  most  subjects  on  which  men 
are  in  the  habit  of  speaking  fluently,  without  writing 
or  reading  their  discourses.  Take  the  advocate,  for 
example.  He  has  his  facts  drawn  from  testimony, 
something  palpable  and  tangible,  which  he  makes  the 
basis  of  his  speech,  and  to  which  he  is  obliged  con¬ 
stantly,  in  the  course  of  it,  to  appeal.  There  are 
circumstances  about  each  individual  case,  which  in¬ 
vest  it  with  more  or  less  of  interest,  enough  generally 
to  secure  attention  for  the  advocate,  if  he  only  plead 
with  tolerable  ability,  to  the  facts  which  have  been 
elicited.  It  requires  no  very  commanding  power  of 
intellect  to  do  this.  In  fact,  practice  may  soon  render 
the  mediocer ,  if  he  possess  judgment,  expert  in 


118 


IIALL  AND  CHALMERS. 


arranging  liis  evidence,  and  making  only  from  liis 
briefs  a  speech  of  respectable  argumentative  power. 
Aided  in  this  way  by  facts,  which  appeal  to  the  out¬ 
ward  senses  of  men,  one  of  the  first  difficulties  which 
the  preacher  has  to  encounter,  that  of  securing 
attention,  has  been  met  and  vanquished.  The  sub¬ 
jects  presented  by  the  preacher  are  more  of  a 
didactic  than  of  a  practical  character.  lie  must  se¬ 
cure  attention  to  them,  if  he  get  it  at  all,  not  by 
appealing  to  matters  of  personal  knowledge  and 
every-day  experience,  but  to  those  which  rest  on 
faith,  and  are  beyond  the  reach  of  the  outward 
senses.  Besides,  he  has  not,  as  the  advocate  has,  a 
new  array  of  arguments  and  facts  applicable  to  each 
successive  case,  and  no  other,  and  possessing,  on  this 
account,  the  force  of  novelty.  The  very  iteration  of 
subjects,  removed  as  their  character  is  from  matters 
with  which  men  are  experimentally  conversant, 
begets  familiarity,  and  thus  insensibility,  so  that  the 
attention  becomes  more  and  more  languid.  Hence, 
to  overcome  this  inattention  is  the  preacher’s  great 
aim.  To  do  it,  and  retain  a  hold  upon  his  hearers,  it 
is  necessary  to  prepare  his  pulpit  utterances  with  the 
utmost  care — to  make  amends  for  the  lack  of  tangible 
facts  by  the  wide  variety  of  topics  that  he  enlists  in 
the  service  of  truth.  Far  greater  pains  and  skill  are 


IIALL  AND  CIIALMEES. 


119 


requisite  to  interest  an  audience  on  the  Sabbatli-day, 
than  the  advocate  finds  necessary  to  interest  bis. 
And  be  whose  preparation  best  effects  a  result  so 
desirable  and  important,  is  the  workman  who  lias  the 
least  cause  to  be  ashamed. 

Now  we  are  far  from  saying  that  this  variety  is 
inseparable  from  writing  out  discourses  for  the  pulpit. 
We  know  there  are  minds  so  constituted  as  to  be 
able  to  prepare  for  the  pulpit  with  as  great  fulness 
and  accuracy  by  dint  of  the  mental  operation,  as  by 
the  use  of  paper.  There  are  some  who  prefer  this 
mode  of  preparation  to  any  other,  and  whose  at¬ 
tempts  to  preach  from  written  notes  would  be  a  sad 
failure.  This  was  the  case  with  Mr.  Hall.  His 
power  of  abstraction,  by  virtue  of  which  he  could 
shut  himself  out  from  all  surrounding  objects,  and 
pursue  his  theme  uninterruptedly  till  he  had  mastered 
it,  adjusting  not  simply  the  general  train  and  current 
of  remarks,  but  the  very  sentences  and  words  in 
their  proper  places,  is  one  of  the  most  extraordinary 
features  of  his  mind.  It  cost  him  not  only  labor,  but 
pain,  literally,  to  commit  his  thoughts  to  paper.  He 
had  been  a  Samson  short  of  his  strength,  had  he 
been  forced  to  the  manuscript  as  the  medium  of 
addressing  an  audience.  But  of  Dr.  Chalmers  the 
reverse  was  true.  He  chose  to  write  his  preparations, 


120 


HALL  AND  CHALMERS. 


and  to  give  them  from  the  paper.  Had  he  been 
forced  to  throw  his  paper  aside,  and  rely  upon  his 
mental  laboratory,  as  the  other  did,  we  will  not  say 
that  his  failure  would  have  been  ignominious — but 
we  have  not  a  doubt  that  there  would  have  been  a 
sad  falling-otf  in  the  overwhelming  energy  that  so 
remarkably  distinguished  him.  There  is  no  Pro¬ 
crustean  bed  to  which  a  preacher  should  perforce  be 
fitted.  That  mode  in  which  he  can  prepare  best  and 
preach  most  effectively,  is  best.  They  who  can 
elaborate  their  theme  maturely,  and  produce  most 
impression  without  notes,  or  who  discard  them  out 
of  choice,  for  reasons  satisfactory  to  themselves,  are 
certainly  wise  in  doing  so.  While  they  who  possess 
no  enviable  gift  of  abstraction,  or  who,  after  writing 
their  discourses,  are  unable  or  unwilling  to  commit 
them  to  memory,  or  who  have  not  the  gift  of  preach¬ 
ing  well  from  analysis,  and  will  not,  by  frequent  ex¬ 
temporaneous  speech,  incur  the  risk  of  having  their 
discourses  degenerate  into  jejune  common-places — a 
Scylla  on  which  many  an  anti-note  man  has  fatally 
struck — should  certainly  be  permitted  to  choose  that 
mode  by  which  they  can  most  effectively  set  forth 
God’s  counsel  before  men.  If  Chalmers  be  worth 
anything  as  an  example,  it  must  be  confessed  that 
a  man  may  preach,  even  though  he  read.  An  ac- 


HALL  AND  CHALMEKS. 


121 


quaintance  with  the  practice  in  this  respect  of  the 
most  noted  divines,  both  at  home  and  abroad,  will  go 
far  to  conduct  us  to  the  same  conclusion. 

But  we  must  close.  The  world  will  look  upon  the 
faces  and  hear  the  voices  of  these  eloquent  great  men 
no  more.  The  mighty  leveller  consigns  to  the  worm 
the  strong  man  equally  with  the  feeblest.  We  mourn 
as  we  witness  the  sad  effect  of  his  doings.  We  ex¬ 
claim,  “How  are  the  mighty  fallen,”  in  accents  of 
bitterness  that  would  seem  to  proclaim  our  conviction 
that  such  men  lost  to  the  Church,  all  is  lost.  But  the 
ark  is  safe,  though  the  strongest  arms  that  upheld  it 
are  paralysed.  The  Church  and  the  Truth  live  on 
just  the  same,  though  the  brightest  ornaments  of  the 
one  and  the  ablest  defenders  of  the  other,  fall  into 
the  grave.  God  identifies  not  the  prosperity  of  Zion 
with  the  labors  or  the  life  of  particular  individuals, 
however  distinguished  and  important  may  have  been 
their  services  in  its  behalf.  He  condescends  to  em¬ 
ploy  such  men,  as  he  does  humbler  ones,  to  accom¬ 
plish  his  designs.  When  their  work  is  done,  He  still 
liveth,  to  preside  over  the  affairs  of  the  world,  and 
of  the  Church  especially— to  guard  his  heritage — to 
raise  up  the  proper  persons  to  defend  it — to  infuse 
light  into  their  mind  and  strength  into  their  arm. 

Hor  may  the  men  to  whom  this  work  is  in  great 

6 


122 


IIALL  AND  CHALMERS. 


part  intrusted — the  “  ministers  of  his  who  do  his 
pleasure” — sigh  in  despondency,  as  they  remember 
how  feeble  is  their  strength,  compared  with  that  of 
those  whose  talents  and  eloquence  the  world  have 
honored.  We  have  onr  mission  to  fulfil  as  well 
as  the  most  rarely-gifted  preachers  who  have 
ever  attracted  the  admiration  of  mankind.  If  the 
five  talents  have  been  withheld  from  ns,  we  will 
not  be  required  to  account  for  five.  W e  are  answer- 
able  only  for  the  improvement  of  that  which  has 
been  given  us,  be  it  less  or  more.  To  improve  this 
gift  well,  is  to  fulfil  our  mission  well.  While  to  such 
truly  great  men  as  those  who  have  been  before  us, 
the  worthy  tribute  of  a  world- wide  esteem  and  ap¬ 
plause  is  accorded,  a  time  is  coming  when  the  dis¬ 
tinctions  of  eternity  will  swallow  up  all  minor  ones 
— when  to  the  humblest  laborer  in  the  Master’s  vine¬ 
yard  who  has  done  what  he  could  in  the  noblest  of 
services,  improving  his  single  talent,  if  only  honored 
with  one,  with  all  diligence  and  sincerity,  as  beneath 
the  Master’s  eye,  will  be  awarded  this  decisive  and 
ever-abiding  title  to  distinction,  “Well  done,  good 
and  faithful  servant,  enter  into  the  joy  of  thy  Lord.” 


THE  REFUGE  FROM  THE  PESTILENCE,  AND  THE 
DUTIES  OF  THE  SAVED. 


(A  Sermon  on  the  Disappearance  of  the  Cholera,  Oct.  1849.) 

“  I  will  say  of  the  Lord,  He  is  my  refuge  and  my  fortress — my 
God — in  Him  will  I  trust.  Surely  He  shall  deliver  thee  from  the 
snare  of  the  fowler  and  from  the  noisome  pestilence.” 

Psalm  xci.  2  3. 

The  summer  now  past  and  a  part  of  the  fall,  have 
together  formed  a  season  which  will  he  memorable 
in  the  history  of  the  country,  as  the  season  of  1832  is 
memorable  from  a  similar  cause.  God  lias  again  been 
abroad  in  the  land,  by  the  presence  of  one  of  those 
dire  scourges  which  Tie  so  often  makes  the  ministers 
of  his  wrath — to  execute  deserved  punishment  upon 
nations  that  grow  forgetful  of  his  laws  and  of  his 
claims.  The  season  has  been  one  of  fear  and  gloom, 
of  sadness  and  mourning.  Those  communities  more 
particularly  which  have  felt  the  shock  of  the  pesti¬ 
lence, — where  it  has  enrolled  among  its  victims  many, 
who  a  few  months  ago  were  rejoicing  in  firm  health 


124 


THE  REFUGE  FROM  THE  PESTILENCE, 


and  fair  prospects,  as  we  now  rejoice,  have  been  most 
affected  by  this  gloom,  this  sadness,  and  these  fears. 
5>ut  the  whole  land  has  had  reason  to  share  these  feel¬ 
ings,  for  where  a  scourge  is  abroad  so  fatal  and  un¬ 
distinguishing  as  the  cholera ;  where  places  remote 
from  each  other  were  found  liable  to  be  simultaneous¬ 
ly  attacked,  and  from  no  traceable  cause ;  where  no 
quarter  of  the  country,  no  district,  no  city,  no  town, 
no  village,  has  been  able  to  count  upon  absolute  im¬ 
munity  ;  and  where,  even  to  those  who  remained  in 
apparent  safety,  the  constant  tidings  were  borne  of 
the  sufferings  of  other  places  and  the  anguish  of  other 
homes, — it  were  almost  impossible  for  any  heart  of 
sensibility  not  to  have  trembled  and  mourned,  on  ac¬ 
count  of  the  ravages  of  so  terrible  and  unpitying  a 
foe.  While  in  the  midst  of  a  community  where  the 
death-strokes  fast  and  heavy,  have  actually  fallen,  as 
they  have  in  our  own,*  not  to  have  felt  any  dread  at 
the  mighty  power  of  God,  which  was  so  impressively 
displayed,  or  any  grief  for  the  bereavement  and  sor¬ 
rows  of  others,  would  argue  a  heart  so  cold  and  un¬ 
feeling,  as  to  be  beyond  the  reach  of  the  softer 
emotions. 

*  Some  sixty  deaths  occurring  in  the  place  of  the  speaker’s 
residence,  Saugerties,  N.  Y.,  from  this  fearful  visitant,  out  of  a  popu¬ 
lation  of  3,000  souls,  exhibit  a  degree  of  mortality  without  many 
parallels  in  the  land. 


AND  THE  DUTIES  OF  THE  SAVED. 


125 


Sucli  stolid  insensibility,  I  trust,  has  occupied  its  icy 
throne  in  the  bosoms  of  very  few.  It  may  be  safely 
assumed,  I  hope,  that  all  of  you  at  least  have  shared  in 
the  sober  and  pensive  feelings  of  which  I  have  spoken 
—feelings  creditable  to  our  humanity,  and  show¬ 
ing  that  man  is  not  utterly  abandoned.  Many  graves 
have  opened  in  the  midst  of  us  since  the  summer 
dawned.  Many  are  lying  there,  the  cold  and  still 
dwellers  of  these  narrow  houses,  who  looked  with 
gladness  as  we  did,  upon  the  opening  buds  and  flow¬ 
ers  of  the  spring,  who  inhaled  with  us  the  sweet 
perfumes  of  the  fresh  season,  who  hoped  to  see 
and  gather  the  fruits  of  autumn,  and  enjoy  them  in 
the  winter.  But  alas ! — the  promise  of  their  spring, 
like  that  of  many  an  early  frost-nipped  flower,  is 
blasted  for  ever.  And  so  all  over  the  land.  The 
newly  closed  and  crowded  graves  near  at  hand  which 
glare  upon  the  passer-by,  repeat  the  same  story  that 
is  told  by  the  graves  heaped  during  the  season,  in  a 
thousand  other  localities ;  and  that  story  is  the  blasting 
of  human  hopes  with  human  life,  by  the  hand  of  this 
destroyer.  It  is  a  sad  story  and  fruitful,  if  its  lessons 
be  rightly  heeded.  I  purpose  this  morning  to  ask 
you  to  attend  with  me,  to  some  considerations  con¬ 
nected  with  this  subject,  to  revolve  some  of  the  sen¬ 
timents  which  we  should  entertain  in  view  of  the 


126 


THE  REFUGE  FROM  THE  PESTILENCE, 


painful  dispensations  of  Providence,  during  the  season 
past,  and  in  view  of  our  having  survived,  through 
the  Divine  Mercy,  those  blows,  before  which  so  many 
of  our  fellow  beings,  both  here  and  elsewhere,  have 
fallen. 

We  have  reason  to  congratulate  one  another  that  we 
are  alive  to-day — that  we  have  not  fallen  suddenly 
before  this  “  noisome  pestilence” 

Though  we  may  cherish  the  hope  that,  had  death 
stricken  some  of  us,  we  should  have  met  him  not 
unprepared  for  an  exchange  of  worlds — though  our 
individual  departure  as  Christians  falling  asleep  in 
Jesus  had  been  a  transition  from  a  world  of  misery  to 
one  of  joy — yet  we  seldom  rise  so  far  above  the 
world’s  attractions  as  to  be  careless  of  life,  or  as  to 
wish  for  death.  It  requires  the  very  highest  pitch  of 
spirituality  and  deadness  to  the  world  to  enable  us  to 
soar  with  the  apostle  above  sense  and  sight,  and  re¬ 
spond  to  his  lieart-desire  to  depart  and  be  with  Christ , 
which  is  far  better.  W e  wish  to  linger  still  among 
our  friends — to  rejoice  in  the  endearments  of  family 
and  home — to  preserve  the  pleasant  associations  of 
various  kinds  which  we  have  formed — and  to  be  useful 
to  our  kindred,  the  Church,  and  Society.  We  desire 
to  live  longer,  lest  perchance  our  work,  if  it  should 
cease  now,  may  be  found  unfinished — we  desire  to 


AND  THE  DUTIES  OF  TIIE  SAVED. 


127 


live  that  we  may  recover  strength  before  we  go  lienee , 
and  be  upon  the  earth  no  more.  And  we  desire  to 
live  that  we  may  spare  for  awhile  yet  the  pangs  of 
those  who  survive  us,  who  love  us,  and  who,  by  our 
departure,  may  be  thrown  unprotected  and  helpless 
upon  the  cold  charities  of  the  world. 

Call  not  this  love  of  life  that  is  so  strong  within  us, 
the  evidence  of  a  feeble  piety,  or  a  too  powerful  at¬ 
tachment  to  a  world  that  is  not  our  “  abiding  place,” 
in  which  we  are  but  pilgrims  and  sojourners ,  as  all 
our  fathers  were.  Call  it  rather  the  evidence  of  the 
strength  of  mortal  infirmity — of  the  imperfections  of 
a  heart  whose  native  corruptions  lead  it  to  vibrate 
between  earth  and  heaven,  and  which  grace  alone 
can  wean,  as  we  trust  it  is  gradually  weaning  it  from 
all  that  is  grovelling  and  base. 

The  joy  at  our  preservation  should  be  proportioned 
to  the  tenacious  hold  we  have  on  life.  And  thus 
even  to  the  Christian  who  relies  with  unfaltering 
trust  and  tenderness  upon  the  merits  of  his  Lord,  is  it 
a  source  of  heartfelt  satisfaction  that  the  storm  of 
the  pestilence  has  swept  by,  and  he  is  not  numbered 
among  its  victims.  But  far  more  should  the  worldly 
man  rejoice,  whose  hope  is  confined  to  the  present, 
that  his  span  of  life  and  season  of  mercy  have  not 
been  suddenly  interrupted  together  by  the  bursting 


128  THE  REFUGE  FROM  THE  PESTILENCE; 

storm.  In  addition  to  all  the  considerations  just  pre¬ 
sented,  which  render  life  sweet  even  to  the  pardoned 
child,  there  are  in  his  case  the  vastly  significant  ones 
of  an  offended  Father  to  he  reconciled,  a  long  neglect¬ 
ed  Saviour  to  he  sought  and  found, — the  inveterate 
liahits  and  experiences  of  a  rebel’s  mind  and  career 
to  he  supplanted  hy  those  springing  from  the  life  of 
God  in  the  soul.  W ell  may  intense  congratulations  be 
exchanged  hy  this  large  and  interesting  class  of  wor¬ 
shippers  that  they  are  “  yet  alive  ”  to-day — that  while 
the  arrows  of  the  pestilence  that  walketh  in  darkness 
have  been  falling  thick  and  fatally  on  every  side,  and 
the  groans  of  the  stricken  have  blended  with  the 
wails  of  the  bereaved,  the  Lord  has  been  their  “  Re¬ 
fuge  and  their  Fortress,”  and  has  not  suffered  the 
plague  to  invade  their  dwelling.  Exemption  from 
the  rough  sundering  of  the  closest  ties  which  unite 
heart  to  heart,  is,  I  am  sure,  a  theme  of  profound 
rejoicing  to  Christian  hearts  this  day.  Exemption 
from  the  doom  of  those  who  die  unwashed  of  sin, 
and  the  prospect  that  many  days  of  healthy  life 
will  furnish  and  repeat  many  opportunities  for 
wandering  sinners  to  return,  should  expand  and 
overwhelm  the  impenitent  bosom  with  a  far  livelier 

j°y- 

2.  Mere  joy  at  our  escape  from  death  were  barren 


AND  THE  DUTIES  OF  TIIE  SAVED. 


129 


and  contemptible  indeed ,  if  dissevered  from  a  senti¬ 
ment  of  prof ound  awe  of  the  Supreme  Ruled  s  might 
and  majesty ,  and  of  profound  gratitude  to  Him  whose 
mercy  has  been  our  “  shield  and  buckler 

God  sends  the  pestilence.  The  Scriptures  express¬ 
ly  assert  it.  And  if  they  did  not,  the  knowledge  they 
give  us  of  God  and  of  nature,  constrains  the  belief 
that  it  could  not  be  otherwise.  Who  but  the  God  of 
nature  can  control  and  impel  nature  throughout  all 
her  departments — that  great  and  mighty  Lord,  who 
covereth  himself  with  light  as  with  a  garment — who 
hath  stretched  abroad  the  hea/vens  like  a  curtain — who 
has  laid  the  beams  of  his  chambers  in  the  waters — ■ 
who  maketh  the  clouds  his  chariot ,  and  rides  upon 
the  wings  of  the  wind — who  maketh  his  angels  spirits , 
his  ministers  a  flaming  fire  !  Yes,  the  flaming  fire, 
and  the  rolling  waves,  and  the  raging  winds — all  the 
elements  of  nature  are  under  liis  control,  are  thrown 
into  commotion  or  lulled  into  repose  at  his  command. 
When  he  utters  his  voice  the  earth  quakes  and 
groans,  and  the  mighty  city  with  its  swarming  popu¬ 
lation  is  swallowed  up — the  horrid  fire  from  subter¬ 
ranean  caverns  is  belched  forth  to  appal  the  stoutest 
heart,  and  overwhelm  the  habitations  of  men — the 
fierce  tornado  tears  along  its  impetuous  way — the 
ocean  lashes  itself  into  fury,  now  sending  the  affright- 

q* 


130  THE  REFUGE  FROM  THE  PESTILENCE, 

ed  mariner  to  the  clouds,  and  anon  plunging  him 
into  the  yawning  abyss — the  sands  of  the  desert 
arise,  follow  the  tracks  of  the  trembling  traveller,  or 
hurl  themselves  upon  the  shrinking  caravan,  burying 
man  and  beast  indiscriminately  in  the  most  horrible 
of  graves.  The  simoom’s  poisonous  breath  sweeps  by, 
and  the  poor  wanderer  in  the  desert  who  inhales  it 
falls  and  dies.  And  the  “  noisome  pestilence  ”  too, 
the  destruction  that  wasteth  at  noonday ,  comes 
forth  from  its  lurking-place  at  its  Master’s  nod,  and 
rushes  from  point  to  point,  horror  and  havoc  attending 
it,  to  execute  its  mission,  whether  of  wrath,  of  warn¬ 
ing,  or  of  woe. 

O  God !  how  great  and  terrible  art  thou !  How 
vast  thy  power,  how  awful  thy  majesty,  as  seen 
simply  in  the  elements,  when  thy  voice  rouses  them 
into  rage !  Who  can  stand  before  thee  when  thy 
wrath  is  kindled  but  a  little — wThen  thou  goest  forth  to 
judge  and  smite  the  lands  !  Worms  that  we  are  and 
not  men,  when  measured  by  thine  infinite  grandeur, 
may  the  depth  of  our  humility  and  the  earnestness  of 
our  adoration  show  that  we  have  some  sense  of  our  in¬ 
significance,  and  of  the  amazing  mercy  which  still 
suffers  such  feeble  dying  things  to  crawl. 

And  “the  sacred  seals  that  bind  the  pestilence” 
have  been  broken  by  His  hands.  His  voice  has  bid- 


AND  THE  DUTIES  OF  THE  SAVED. 


131 


den  it  to  go,  and  it  is  gone — to  smite,  and  it  lias  smit¬ 
ten — to  cease,  and  tlie  bloody  sword  has  been  returned 
to  its  scabbard.  What  fearful  effects,  alas !  have  at¬ 
tested  the  severity  of  the  visitation.  What  hopes 
have  been  blasted — what  homes  have  been  made  de¬ 
solate — what  pangs  of  body  have  been  endured — 
what  countless  hearts  have  been  wrung,  and  what 
weeds  rest  and  will  long  rest  upon  many  a  sorely 
stricken  mourner,  who,  with  bowed  head,  refuses, 
like  Rachel,  to  be  comforted,  because  the  loved  are 
not.  But  let  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  world  stand 
in  awe  of  him.  It  is  His  hand,  and  let  survivors 
fear  Him.  Though  some  have  been  taken,  the  many 
have  been  left.  It  is  the  divine  mercy  which  has 
kept  the  fatal  strokes  from  falling  still  more  thickly. 
But  for  the  divine  forbearance,  the  wail  of  anguish 
had  risen  from  every  household  in  the  land,  as  it  did 
in  Egypt,  when  there  was  not  a  house  where  there  was 
not  one  dead.  What  is  any  man  whose  breath  is  in 
his  nostrils ,  that  the  plague  should  put  a  difference 
between  him  and  others  who  have  perished  like  the 
moth  before  it?  While  we  bow,  therefore,  before  the 
majesty  of  Him  whose  way  is  in  the  sea ,  and  who 
does  according  to  his  good  pleasure  among  the  inha¬ 
bitants  of  the  earth — let  the  full  hearts  of  the  spared 
pour  the  tribute  of  gratitude  to  Him  who  has  been 


132 


THE  REFUGE  FROM  THE  PESTILENCE, 


their  “  refuge  and  fortress ”  in  the  hour  of  danger — 
who  rebuked  the  “  noisome  pestilence  ”  which  threat¬ 
ened  to  devour,  saying,  as  he  encircled  our  bosoms 
with  his  arm  of  love,  hitherto  shalt  thou  come ,  but 
no  farther.  How  rapturous  the  song  of  Moses  as  he 
looked  back  upon  the  tranquil  waters  which  covered 
the  baffled  and  death-struck  foe,  and  how  fitly  at  this 
time  may  our  hearts  respond  to  its  majestic  opening 
sentiment  of  gratitude  and  praise,  The  Lord  is  my 
strength  and  song ,  and  He  is  become  my  salvation. 

But  the  God-sent  pestilence  has  not  come  and  smit¬ 
ten  without  a  purpose.  The  ministers  of  justice  or  of 
wrath  draw  not  the  sword  for  naught. 

What  that  purpose  is,  in  so  many  words  it  were 
presumptuous  for  man  to  say.  So  ignorant  are  we  of 
the  secret  counsels  and  designs  of  the  Almighty,  that 
we  must  shrink  from  expressing  a  decided  judgment 
upon  the  design  of  those  developments  of  Provi¬ 
dence  which  are  transpiring  around  us,  except  in 
cases  where  all  uncertainty  is  removed  by  express 
revelation.  This  is  not  granted  us  in  the  case  of  that 
pestilence  which  having  pursued  its  strange  erratic 
course  in  various  countries  of  the  old  world,  victims, 
like  the  falling  leaves  of  autumn,  everywhere  strew¬ 
ing  its  path,  has  again  found  on  our  shores  the  theatre, 
of  its  unequal  warfare  and  dire  victories.  Who  shall 


AND  THE  DUTIES  OF  THE  SAVED. 


133 


declare  the  specific  purpose  of  the  spoiler’s  approach 
and  devastations  ?  Who  can  enter  the  council  cham¬ 
ber  of  the  infinite  and  learn  it  there  ?  Man  is  of 
yesterday ,  and  knows  nothing ,  and  least  of  all  of  the 
secret  things  that  belong  unto  the  Lord  our  God. 

One  purpose,  however,  of  sending  forth  the  minis¬ 
ters  of  destruction  may  be  assigned  without  hesita¬ 
tion,  for  it  is  one  which  again  and  again,  as  revelation 
assures  us,  has  caused  the  axe  of  judgment  to  be 
wielded  and  laid  vigorously  at  the  root  of  the  tree  of 
guilt  and  folly.  It  is  to  rebuke  and  punish  sin. — • 
Sin,  which  drowned  a  wTorld,  brought  the  devouring 
tempest  of  fire  and  brimstone  upon  the  guilty  cities 
of  the  plain — caused  the  avenging  sword  to  drink  the 
blood  of  so  many  nations  of  antiquity  whose  calami¬ 
ties  stand  out  upon  the  pages  of  Scripture,  as  beacons 
to  warn  us  of  their  fate  and  bid  us  beware  how 
we  follow  in  their  footsteps  of  rebellion — upheaved  the 
foundations  of  mighty  cities  and  empires — brought 
angels  down  on  anxious  messages  to  men — and  caused 
the  wasting  pestilence  to  be  sent  forth  to  proclaim 
that  God  and  his  laws  are  holy,  and  the  sinner  vile 
and  his  rebellion  odious,  ever  inviting  the  full  con¬ 
tents  of  the  cup  of  the  Loris  right  hand. 

And  are  our  sins,  whether  national  or  individual, 
so  much  fewer  in  number  and  smaller  in  bulk  than 


134  THE  REFUGE  FROM  THE  PESTILENCE, 

those  of  the  Jews,  as  to  exempt  us,  on  the  score  of 
merit,  from  those  special  heaven-sent  inflictions,  by 
which  they  were  so  often  scourged  into  obedience? 
Are  we  more  grateful  to  God  for  his  distinguishing 
mercies  than  they — more  habitually  impressed  with 
the  sense  of  his  overshadowing  presence  and  power, 
less  prone  to  lapse  into  rebellion — more  pleased  with 
his  service,  more  anxious  for  his  glory  ?  Who  will 
rise  up  and  say,  that  we  deserve  more  favor  and  less 
punishment  than  the  covenant  people  of  old  ?  Hatlier 
let  ns  say,  as  we  certainly  shall,  if  we  know  our¬ 
selves,  “  let  the  rod  fall,  we  deserve  its  strokes,” — and 
were  they  to  come  tenfold  thicker  and  heavier  than 
they  have  fallen,  we  should  still  be,  and  must  ever  be, 
insolvent  debtors  to  the  Divine  forbearance. 

Though  the  punishment  of  sin  has  been  chiefly  or 
in  part  the  purpose  for  which  the  plague-storm  has 
been  sent,  it  is  certain  that  we — no  worthier  than 
many  who  have  not  escaped — have  escaped  it.  And 
for  what  ?  May  we  not  humbly  seek  the  purpose  for 
which  we  are  suffered  in  health  this  day  to  look 
around  upon  the  graves  of  the  fallen,  feeling  that  no 
evil  has  overtaken  us,  because  the  Most  High  has 
been  our  refuge  and  defence  ?  Those  undeserved  dis¬ 
pensations  or  interpositions  which  save  man  from 
impending  calamity  or  death,  are  at  once  the  evidence 


AND  THE  DUTIES  OF  THE  SAVED. 


135 


and  effect  of  tlie  divine  love  and  mercy.  Life  re¬ 
deemed  from  tlie  grave,  is  the  continuance  of  the 
opportunity  of  its  being  saved  for  ever.  When  the 
tree  is  not  cut  down,  it  is  suffered  to  stand  that  it 
may  peradventure  bear  fruit.  May  we  not  therefore 
call  God’s  purpose  in  saving  man  from  the  pestilence 
to  he,  that  the  reckless  rebel  may  profit  to  his  own 
salvation,  by  the  deeply  solemn  and  affecting  lessons 
springing  from  the  divine  judgments?  And  more 
than  this,  that  not  the  dead  in  sins  alone  may  he  made 
alive,  but  that  a  languid  faith  and  love  and  zeal  may 
be  stimulated  in  Christian  bosoms,  and  that  the  sear 
and  drooping  graces  of  a  formal  piety  may  be  made 
to  bloom  afresh  ?  Among  the  lessons  which  should  be 
graven  as  with  a  pen  of  iron  on  the  heart,  may  be 
mentioned  these. 

That  God  now  demands  the  life  consecration  of  the 
spared.  It  is  a  fearful  thing  to  fall  into  the  hands  of 
the  living  God.  But  for  the  mercy  which  has  saved 
you  alive  amid  the  havoc  of  the  plague,  ye  men  of 
preverse  minds,  the  awful  experience  of  these  words 
would  now  be  yours.  No  more  shall  the  accents  of 
invitation  to  the  cross,  the  soft  murmurs  of  the  streams 
flowing  from  the  Fountain  of  Life,  fall  upon  the  ears 
of  the  many  who  have  gone  down  cpiickly  to  their 
graves.  Their  work  here  is  done,  whether  well  or  ill. 


136 


THE  REFUGE  FROM  THE  PESTILENCE, 


No  space  in  tlie  spirit-land  whither  they  have  gone, 
can  be  found  to  repair  what  was  wrong,  to  complete 
what  was  unfinished.  But  to  the  living,  the  voice 
both  of  entreaty  and  command  speaks.  The  body 
and  soul  are  the  property  of  Christ.  They  have 
been  bought  with  the  costliest  sacrifice,  whose  savor 
has  ever  reached  the  skies.  The  noblest  powers  and 
services  of  human  hearts  and  lives  are  his,  and 
should  now  be  devoted  to  Him,  who  claims  them  as 
the  reward  of  His  agonies.  No  fife,  indeed,  is  long 
enough  to  pay  the  vast  debt  which  each  soul  owes, 
but  no  point  of  time  is  too  early  to  begin  its  acknow¬ 
ledgment.  The  divine  entreaty  and  command  unite 
to  enforce  the  spared  sinner’s  attention  to  the  worth 
and  importance  of  the  eventful  present.  Now  is 
the  accepted  time — the  future  is  veiled  in  darkness 
and  doubt.  Though  the  plague  has  spared,  scores  of 
diseases  which  may  not  spare,  wait  to  stop  the 
heart’s  pulsations.  The  stroke  from  any  of  these  is 
as  decisive,  and  may  be  as  sudden,  as  from  the 
hand  of  the  noisome  pestilence.  The  voice  from 
heaven,  in  the  light  of  all  these  considerations,  thus 
speaks : — • 

u  Let  the  time  past  of  your  lives  suffice  you  to  have 
wrought  the  will  of  the  Gentiles ,  and  no  longer  live 
the  rest  of  your  time  in  the  flesh ,  to  the  lusts  of  men , 


AND  THE  DUTIES  OF  THE  SAVED. 


137 


but  to  the  will  of  God.”  Oh,  may  you  hear  and  heed 
this  earnest,  loving  voice  ! 

If,  after  hea/ring  what  God  the  Lord  has  spoken, 
you  turn  again  to  folly,  abuse  his  sparing  mercy  and 
provoke  his  wrath,  the  guilt  will  be  greater,  and  the 
blow  soon  to  fall,  heavier. 

Look  at  Pharaoh.  Each  plague  sent  upon  the 
land  produced  apparent  recognition  of  God  and 
humility  of  spirit,  which  vanished  with  the  removal 
of  its  cause,  leaving  his  heart  flintier  than  before. 
Mere  contempt  and  insensibility  rose  into  defiance 
and  mad  opposition,  which  ended  only  with  his 
decisive  and  terrible  overthrow.  Trace  the  chosen 
of  God  themselves  after  their  signal  exodus,  through 
the  successive  degrees  of  ignoble  fear  and  doubt,  of 
unmanly  lamentation,  of  faithless  murmuring,  of 
brutish  idolatry,  of  foul  fornication,  of  God-defying 
crimes  without  a  name — their  carcasses  strewing  the 
devious  path  of  their  wanderings,  two  only  of  the 
liberated  host  escaping  the  horrors  of  the  way,  and 
pressing  the  soil  of  the  promised  land.  Well  might 
the  apostle  propose  these  things  as  examples  written 
for  our  admonition.  The  heart  relenting  under 
affliction  and  hardening  under  its  removal,  becomes, 
through  each  process  of  this  kind,  less  liable  to  relent 
than  before.  It  is  a  treasuring  up  of  wrath  against 


138 


THE  REFUGE  FROM  THE  PESTILENCE, 


the  day  of  wrath,  to  despise,  when  tlie  calm  returns, 
the  terrors  and  resolves  which  the  storm  inspired. 
The  whole  magazine  of  nature,  full  of  fatal  maladies, 
is  under  the  control  of  Him  who  sends  and  who 
recalls  the  pestilence.  The  least  feared  and  most 
despised  disease,  if  He  command,  quenches  the  eye’s 
light,  and  consigns  man  over  to  the  worm.  Let  the 
stiff-necked  beware.  If  he  turn  not ,  lie  will  whet 
his  sword  ;  He  hath  bent  his  bow  and  made  it  ready. 
He,  that  being  often  reproved,  hardeneth  his  neck, 
shall  suddenly  be  destroyed,  and  that  without  remedy. 

Hor  will  the  lessons  inculcated  by  the  recent  visi¬ 
tation  have  their  perfect  work  if  they  fail  to  kindle 
in  Christian  bosoms  a  spirit  of  confession,  of  thanks¬ 
giving,  of  zeal,  and  of  trust. 

Of  Confession.  When  the  royal  mourner  bowed 
himself  in  the  dust  before  a  wronged  Father,  pouring 
forth  from  the  depths  of  lieart-feeling  the  tenderest 
and  noblest  strains  of  penitential  devotion  that  mor¬ 
tal  lips  ever  uttered,  how  fragrant  may  we  not  sup¬ 
pose  the  sacrifices  of  his  broken  spirit  to  have  been. 

And  though  our  crimes  may  not  appear  to  have 
been  so  great,  because  not  so  glaring — they  are 
surely  great  enough  to  prompt,  day  by  day,  the  like 
manifestation  of  profound  sorrow.  We  have  sinned, 
and  deserved  the  Almighty’s  wrath.  Our  coldness, 


AND  THE  DUTIES  OF  THE  SAVED. 


139 


and  wretched  formality,  and  barrenness  of  the  fruits 
of  the  Spirit,  and  conformity  to  the  world  which  is 
our  worst  foe,  and  love  for  its  applauses,  are  enough 
to  have  brought  the  sword  out  of  its  scabbard  to 
smite  the  land.  Shall  we  not  humble  ourselves  be¬ 
fore  the  powerful  hand  that  lias  lain  so  heavily  upon . 
us,  and  with  true  penitence  confess  the  sins  and 
shortcomings  which  may  have  clamored  long  and 
loudly  for  punishment,  ere  punishment  came  ?  Had 
the  mighty  scourge  smitten  the  land  and  its  inhabit¬ 
ants  precisely  according  to  their  deserts,  could  any 
of  us  have  escaped  with  our  lives  ?  If  thou ,  Lord , 
shouldest  mark  iniquities ,  0  Lord ,  who  coidd  stand  f 
We  are  sj3ared,  not  because  we  have  no  sin,  nor  be¬ 
cause  it  is  not  great  enough  for  punishment,  but 
because  the  Infinite  mercy  is  a  hundred  fold  greater 
than  our  greatest  guilt. 

Of  Thanksgiving.  A  thankful  spirit  should  ac¬ 
company  and  illustrate  a  contrite  one.  In  the  worst 
extremity,  when  sorest  troubles  press,  there  is  room 
for  its  exercise.  David,  in  his  “great  strait,”  had 
cause  to  thank  and  praise  God,  and  did  it.  Job 
blessed  the  name  of  the  Lord  even  when  the  rolling 
tide  of  his  fast-falling  sorrows  seemed  mighty  enough 
to  overwhelm,  for  the  time  at  least,  every  sentiment 
of  devotion.  And  since  the  insatiate  pestilence  has 


140 


THE  REFUGE  FROM  THE  PESTILENCE. 

J 


simply  slain  its  thousands  where  it  might  have  slain 
its  tens  of  thousands,  the  thankful  spirit  should  dis¬ 
play  itself  with  peculiar  vivacity.  When  the  sword 
was  waving  over  the  land  and  falling  in  fury  upon 
thousands,  there  was  mercy  to  make  us  thankful ; 
now  that  the  calamity  is  overpast,  and  we  are  saved, 
there  is  mercy  to  make  us  thankful;  and  thankful 
should  we  be,  when  we  reflect  that  the  number  of 
the  slain  bears  but  a  small  proportion  to  the  multi¬ 
tudes  that  survive.  Nor  can  our  feelings  more  ap¬ 
propriately  express  themselves  than  in  the  sweet 
language  of  one  who  wras  often  exposed  to  death  and 
danger,  and  as  often  saved :  “ Bless  the  Lord ,  0  my 
soul,  and  all  that  is  within  me  bless  his  holy  name , 
who  redeemeth  my  life  from  destruction — who  crown- 
eth  thee  with  loving  Tcindness  and  tender  mercies .” 

A  spirit  of  zeal  and  life  consecration ,  longing  to 
love  our  Deliverer  more ,  and  to  serve  him  better , 
should  warm  every  heart. 

Zeal,  to  be  stronger  and  more  effective,  requires 
not  the  display  of  sudden  and  spasmodic  exertions  to 
prove  its  increased  earnestness  or  depth.  These,  like 
the  mountain  torrent,  chafing  and  raging  for  a  time, 
and  then  seen  no  more,  will  quickly  exhaust  them¬ 
selves,  leaving  the  channel  dry.  It  should  rather  re¬ 
semble  the  river  fed  by  unseen,  far-off  springs,  calmly 


AJND  THE  DUTIES  OF  THE  SAVED. 


141 


and  ceaselessly  rolling,  with  an  ever-widening  and 
deepening  current,  till  it  mingles  with  the  mighty 
deep.  Such  a  zeal,  purified  by  love  and  directed  by 
knowledge,  was  that  which  the  greatest  of  the 
apostles  had,  and  which  he  exemplified  to  the  close 
of  his  heroic  course.  Its  lustre  was  heightened  and 
its  strength  proved,  by  all  the  dangers,  hardships, 
and  trials,  which  signalized  his  illustrious  ministry. 
Happy,  if  our  zeal  resemble  his!  If  the  rod  that 
smites,  instead  of  prompting  discontent  and  reluctant 
obedience,  quicken  our  footsteps  in  the  path  of  duty 
— if  the  dangers  which  surround  and  the  storms 
which  blow,  instead  of  disheartening,  awaken  new 
resolution  to  disdain  the  terrors  of  the  way — to  forget 
the  things  which  are  behind  and  reach  forth  to  the 
things  which  are  before ,  and  press  towards  the  mark 
for  the  prize  of  the  high  calling  of  God  in  Christ 
Jesus. 

Finally ,  the  spirit  of  Trust ,  implicit  and  un¬ 
questioning ,  should  be  ours. 

They  who  make  the  Lord  their  refuge  and  fortress, 
are  ever  calm  and  ever  safe.  They  who  trust  in  the 
Most  High  are  like  Mount  Zion,  which  cannot  be 
removed ,  but  abideth  for  ever.  The  ways  of  the  Lord 
are  a  “  great  deep.”  And  though  no  great  or  useful 
purpose  were  apparent  to  us  in  the  calamities  he  sends, 


142 


THE  REFUGE  FROM  THE  PESTILENCE, 


faith  will  certainly  infer,  from  what  is  known  of  the 
nature  of  the  Divine  administration,  that  such  pur¬ 
pose  exists,  though  mortal  eyes  may  not  behold  it. 
Ho  sentiment  deserves  to  be  more  deeply  cherished 
in  the  Christian  heart  than  this,  that  the  Judge  of  the 
whole  eo/rth  can  do  no  wrong.  "While  the  men  of  the 
world,  when  dangers  threaten,  are  often  agitated 
with  distressing  fears,  rush  to  vain  refuges  to  shelter 
them  from  impending  harm,  or  poorly  disguise  their 
uneasiness  by  a  forced,  indecorous  levity,  the  Chris¬ 
tian  well  knows  in  whom  he  trusts,  and  his  eye,  lifted 
towards  “  the  hills,”  views  the  gathering  clouds  with¬ 
out  dismay ;  nor  can  their  bursting  move  him  from 
his  calmness,  because  they  cannot  move  him  from  his 
firm  foundation.  The  Father’s  will  is  the  child’s 
security  and  happiness ;  nor  can  any  accumulation 
of  horrors,  resulting  from  the  Divine  dispensations, 
disturb  the  fervor  of  the  sentiment — it  is  the  Lord , 
let  him  do  what  seemeth  good  to  him. 

Hor  is  the  future  dark  to  the  eye  of  such  a  trust. 
He  who  delivers  once  can  deliver  always.  He  who 
calmed  the  waves  of  Tiberias,  can  still  the  waves  of 
doubt  and  terror  whenever,  or  from  whatever  cause, 
they  are  thrown  into  agitation.  The  I^ord  that  de¬ 
livered  me  out  of  the  paw  of  the  lion  and  out  of  the 
paw  of  the  bear ,  will  deliver  me  out  of  the  hand  of 


AND  THE  DUTIES  OF  THE  SAVED. 


143 


the  Philistine ,  said  David,  with  a  most  intelligent 
and  comprehensive  trust.  Die  form  or  pressure  of 
danger  or  trial  is  indifferent,  so  long  as  the  Lord  is 
our  helper.  Diough  the  pestilence  should  be  poured 
periodically,  and  with  increasing  violence,  upon  the 
land,  the  result  would  be  the  same  so  far  as  calmness 
and  courage  on  the  part  of  the  Christian  are  concerned, 
— and  safety  too,  if  He  wills  it,  who  hath  said, 
neither  shall  any  plague  come  nigh  thy  dwelling. 
And  as  with  the  pestilence,  so  with  snares,  dangers, 
and  foes,  of  every  form  and  name  and  degree — the 
same  lofty  Dust  lifts  the  soul  above  the  influence  of 
their  power  or  their  rage.  Diey  may  attack,  but  they 
cannot  conquer ;  they  may  do  their  worst,  but  they 
can  neither  appal  nor  harm  the  sheltered  one,  for 
thouy  Lord ,  wilt  keep  him  in  perfect  peace ,  whose 
mind  is  stayed  on  Thee ,  because  he  trusteth  in  Thee. 
Therefore  comfort  one  another  with  these  words . 


INTEMPERANCE  AND  WAR. 


War,  Famine,  and  Pestilence!  The  direst  words 
in  onr  vocabulary,  the  hare  utterance  of  which  arrays 
before  the  mind  repulsive  pictures  of  wasting,  wounds, 
mortal  agony,  death,  and  desolation,  on  a  scale  of  ter¬ 
rific  magnitude.  It  were  not  easy  to  decide  as  to 
which  of  this  grim  and  remorseless  trio  is,  in  itself, 
the  most  deadly  and  appalling.  Israel’s  offending 
king  had  his  choice  between  them,  hut  found  him¬ 
self  in  a  “  great  strait unable  to  come  to  a  decision, 
and  glad  to  refer  the  matter  to  the  All-Wise  Disposer, 
content  to  bear  meekly  whichever  He  might  inflict. 
On  the  whole,  however,  war  must  bear  the  palm  on 
the  score  of  greatest  destructiveness.  Its  visitations 
are  more  frequent,  and  its  sway  more  enduring.  The 
theatre  of  its  operations  is  wider,  and  its  victims 
incomparably  more  numerous.  Of  the  three  scourges, 
war  clearly  is  first,  mightiest,  deadliest.  But  there 
is  a  fourth  evil,  which,  though  not  usually  enrolled 
among  the  others,  well  deserves  to  rank  with  them. 
It  is  Intemperance.  It  has  no  early  written  records, 


INTEMPERANCE  AND  WAR. 


145 


like  the  others,  to  set  forth  its  frightful  ravages,  hut 
an  unwritten  history  it  has,  and  of  many  bulky 
volumes  too — every  one  of  whose  lines  is  traced  in 
tears  and  blood,  or  like  Ezekiel’s  vision-scroll  “  writ¬ 
ten  within  and  without,  with  lamentations,  mourning, 
and  woe.”  It  towers  “  in  shape  and  stature  proudly 
eminent,”  high  above  the  highest,  as  a  desolator  of 
mankind.  To  make  this  appear  is  the  purpose  of  the 
present  parallel. 

If  we  consider  these  evils  in  respect  to  the  multi¬ 
tudes  of  victims  falling  before  them,  we  shall  find 
intemperance  to  be  vastly  the  more  destructive. 

I  sa j  falling  before  them ,  designing,  by  the  phrase, 
to  limit  the  comparison  to  the  present  age,  or  at  least 
to  the  latter  ages  of  the  world.  It  would  be  rash  to 
assert,  that  in  the  earlier  ages  of  the  world  strong 
drink  has  been  more  destructive  than  the  sword. 
When  drunkenness  was  produced  simply  by  the  use 
of  wine,  and  before  the  disastrous  ingenuity  of  modern 
times  furnished  to  the  world  so  great  a  variety  of  in¬ 
toxicating  drinks  as  now  exist  to  curse  the  race,  the 
number  of  deaths  from  this  cause  was  doubtless  far 
less  than  at  present.  Besides,  no  temperance  societies 
having  existed,  no  records  or  statistics  having  been 
preserved  by  which  the  mortality  from  drunkenness 
can  be  seen,  it  is  impossible  to  draw  a  just  comnarison 

7 


146 


INTEMPERANCE  AND  WAR. 


between  tlie  ravages  of  intemperance  and  tliose  of 
war  in  former  times.  War,  however,  lias  stained 
and  defaced  the  annals  of  every  age  of  the  world. 
The  records  of  its  ravages  have  been  carefully  pre¬ 
served.  Each  battle-field  has  its  tale  of  glory  and  of 
woe.  Many  of  the  great  battle-fields  of  antiquity, 
which  ran  red  with  human  blood,  are  as  familiar  to 
us  as  the  battle-fields  of  our  revolutionary  history. 
Hundreds  of  thousands,  and  these  multiplied  by 
hundreds  of  thousands  more,  have  fallen  in  the  count¬ 
less  sanguinary  battles  of  ancient  times.  So  frightful 
has  the  carnage  been  at  various  periods  of  time,  such 
incredible  multitudes  have  been  offered  up  to  the 
Moloch  of  war,  that  it  has  been  estimated  that  no 
fewer  than  fourteen  thousand  millions*  in  all  ages  of 
the  world,  or  a  tenth  part  of  all  the  inhabitants  of  the 
earth  from  its  creation,  have  perished  from  this 
single  cause. 

Leaving  antiquity,  then,  out  of  the  question,  we  are 
at  least  competent  to  present  and  urge  the  com¬ 
parison  in  reference  to  the  present  times.  Take  the 
last  half  century  to  serve  as  an  example,  and  it  can 
easily  be  shown  that  vastly  more  victims  have  been 
offered  up  at  the  shrines  of  intemperance  than  at 


*  See  Dick’s  Philosophy  of  Religion. 


INTEMPERANCE  AND  WAR. 


147 


those  of  war — that  more  hones  of  those  who  have 
lost  life  by  its  dire  scourge,  during  this  period,  exist, 
than  could  he  found  were  all  the  battle-fields  of  the 
last  fifty  years  dug  up,  and  their  sad  relics  exposed  to 
the  gaze  of  the  world. 

Napoleon  was  appointed  to  the  command  of  the 
army  of  Italy  in  1796.  From  this  period  till  the  bat¬ 
tle  of  Waterloo,  in  1815,  which  closed  his  brilliant 
though  bloody  career,  the  most  frightful  scenes  of 
carnage  and  destruction  were  enacted.  His  wars, 
from  his  rise  to  his  fall,  are  said  to  be  the  direct 
or  indirect  cause  of  the  loss  of  seven  millions  of  human, 
lives.  With  his  downfall,  wars  in  Europe  have 
ceased,  with  a  few  inconsiderable  exceptions,  down 
to  the  present  time.*  So  that  if  we  adopt  this  estimate 
as  probably  near  the  truth,  and  add  one  million  more 
as  the  number  of  lives  lost  by  all  the  other  wars 
of  Europe  since  Waterloo,  we  shall  have  eight  millions 
of  lives  sacrificed  to  the  god  of  war  during  a  period 
of  fifty  years. 

Now,  I  profess  not  to  be  thoroughly  acquainted 
with  the  statistics  of  intemperance  in  Europe  during 
this  period — but  I  think  that  an  estimate  may  be 
formed  upon  this  subject,  which,  whatever  its  liteial 


0  Written  in  1848. 


148 


INTEMPERANCE  AND  WAR. 


inaccuracy,  cannot  fairly  be  chargeable  with  being 
placed  too  high.  Nor  should  it  be  forgotten,  that 
this  period  embracing  the  wars  of  Napoleon,  is  hard¬ 
ly  a  fair  average  of  the  havoc  wrought  by  war  for 
any  given  period  for  the  same  number  of  years — for 
no  twenty  years  in  modern  history  can  furnish  a 
parallel  in  scenes  of  blood  and  carnage  to  those  which 
preceded  the  final  defeat  and  downfall  of  this  extra¬ 
ordinary  man.  But  not  to  insist  upon  this  circum¬ 
stance,  let  the  number  of  eight  millions  be  taken  as  a 
reasonable  estimate  of  lives  destroyed  by  war  for  the 
period  in  question. 

How  many  during  the  same  time  has  intemperance 
destroyed  ?  Europe  contains  a  population  of  at  least 
two  hundred  and  twenty  millions.  Christian  civili¬ 
zation  prevails  there  for  the  most  part,  as  well  as  in 
our  own  land — the  use  of  intoxicating  drinks  prevails 
there  as  well  as  here,  and  in  some  parts  of  Europe 
even  to  a  more  lamentable  extent.  It  is  well  known 
that  for  several  years  from  thirty  to  forty  thousand 
drunkards  among  us  have  gone  down  to  drunkards’ 
graves.  Our  population  is  twenty  millions.  When 
we  were  fifteen  millions,  the  mortality  from  this 
cause  was  hardly  less  appalling  in  extent.  Then,  to 
be  perfectly  safe,  let  us  suppose  that  instead  of  thirty 
thousand  drunkards  dying  every  year,  as  among  us, 


INTEMPERANCE  AND  WAR. 


149 


but  half  this  number,  but  fifteen  thousand,  that  is  one 
drunkard  to  every  thousand  souls,  have  been  cut 
down  in  Europe  in  the  course  of  every  year.  This, 
out  of  the  two  hundred  and  twenty  millions  of  Europe, 
would  give  two  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  drunk¬ 
ards  perishing  every  year,  while  for  fifty  years  at  the 
same  low  rate  the  number  of  victims  would  reach 
the  awful  sum  total  of  eleven  millions,  or  three  mil¬ 
lions  more  than  were  destroyed  by  war  for  the  same 
period. 

If,  however,  we  raise  the  estimate  as  high  as  it  is 
in  our  own  country,  it  would  appear  that  upwards 
of  twenty-two  millions  had  perished  within  fifty 
years.  Nor  is  anything  said  in  this  estimate  about 
the  vices  of  children,  and  others  whose  deaths  are 
wrought  by  the  hands,  or  occasioned  by  the  guilty 
practices  of  drunkards.  Nothing  is  said  about  the 
various  collateral  evils  springing  from  intemperance 
and  causing  death,  although  this  matter  is  embodied 
in  the  other  estimate  touching  the  loss  of  life  by 
wars.  The  frightful  mortality  is  confined  to  the  in¬ 
temperate  victims  alone.  If  we  should  embrace  their 
victims,  how  much  longer  and  blacker  would  the 
awful  catalogue  become.  Instead  of  twenty  millions, 
fifty  millions  of  deaths  would  hardly  suffice  to  stand 
as  the  grand  climacteric  of  mortality  from  this  dire 


150 


INTEMPERANCE  AND  WAR. 


cause.  There  can  hardly  he  a  doubt,  that  where  the 
sword  has  caused  or  occasioned  one  death,  strong 
drink  has  caused  or  occasioned  jive.  So  much  for 
Europe.  In  the  United  States,  where  wars  have  been 
so  unfrequent  and  vastly  less  bloody,  the  difference 
is  proportionably  greater,  so  broad  and  palpable  in¬ 
deed,  that  to  indicate  the  fact  without  dwelling  on  it, 
is  enough. 

2.  Intemperance  is  a  worse  evil  than  war,  because 
more  continuous  cmd  lasting. 

War  is  an  evil  every  way.  Hot  only  by  the  loss 
of  life  it  occasions,  and  the  woe  and  desolation  which 
follow  in  its  train,  but  by  its  enormous  cost,  and  the 
mighty  burdens  it  imposes  upon  nations.  It  is  well 
for  mankind  that  wars  do  not  last  always — that  a  stop 
is  put  to  the  “  battles  of  the  warrior.”  Had  Napo¬ 
leon’s  wars  lasted  till  now,  and  been  waged  on  the 
same  wholesale  scale,  and  in  the  same  sanguinary 
spirit,  Europe  had  been  well  nigh  depopulated.  Ilad 
our  He  volution  ary  struggle  continued  till  now,  sup¬ 
posing  such  a  thing  possible,  instead  of  twenty  mil¬ 
lions  of  population,  we  might  number  now  perhaps 
as  many  thousands.  The  sword — blessed  be  God- 
does  not  devour  for  ever.  The  hurricane  sweeps  over 
the  nation  and  is  succeeded  by  the  calm.  And  when 
the  shock  has  been  felt,  and  the  time  of  rest  from 


INTEMPERANCE  AND  WAR. 


151 


war  ensues — then  may  tlie  battle-wearied  nations  re¬ 
cruit  their  exhausted  energies.  Then  may  a  wise 
government  devise  measures  to  recover  the  crippled 
nation  from  the  effects  of  the  blows  received.  Then 
may  an  enlightened  public  spirit,  and  a  stern  indus¬ 
try,  and  an  indomitable  perseverance,  uniting  with 
the  natural  increase  of  population,  bend  their  ener¬ 
gies  to  the  work  of  healing  the  nation’s  wounds,  and, 
ere  long,  returning  prosperity  is  seen  to  smile  where 
these  evils  scathed  and  blasted. 

The  same  with  pestilence  and  famine.  They  strike 
heavily,  when  they  strike,  but  the  blow  is  not  per¬ 
petually  repeated.  A  whole  province  or  country 
may  pine  and  lament  for  bread  as  Ireland  lately  did. 
The  mighty  populous  city  may  feel,  through  all  its 
arteries,  the  awful  shock  of  the  “pestilence  that 
walketh  in  darkness,”  as  London  did  in  the  great 
plague  of  1665,  but,  in  both  cases,  though  death, 
horror,  and  despair  follow  closely  behind,  by  and  by 
these  grim  destroyers,  having  as  it  were  fully  glutted 
themselves  or  wrought  mischief  enough,  take  their 
departure,  and  permit  the  stricken  and  surviving 
sufferers  to  recover  from  their  anguish,  and  rejoice 
in  prospect  of  exemption  from  similar  calamities. 

But  the  case  with  intemperance  is  different.  The 
storm  rages  continually — without  cessation  or  sue- 


152 


INTEMPERANCE  AND  WAR. 


ceeding  calm.  In  times  of  peace  as  well  as  war,  its 
victims  fall  and  its  ravages  extend.  Its  poisonous 
fountains  are  always  open — always  flowing — always 
supplying  the  thousand  streams  which  roll  over  the 
land,  carrying  into  every  extremity  of  it  wasting 
havoc  and  death.  While  war  is  passive,  and  ceases 
to  molest  and  destroy  at  times,  intemperance  is 
active,  and  never  pauses  in  its  terrible  work  of  in¬ 
flicting  wounds  and  desolation  upon  society.  Like 
burning  streams  of  lava  poured  forth  from  the  crater 
of  some  volcano,  for  years  and  centuries  together — 
like  some  brooding  famine  lying  upon  a  land,  not  for 
a  few  months  or  a  year  at  a  time,  but  for  a  long  and 
unlimited  term  of  years — like  the  devouring  pesti¬ 
lence  raging,  not  for  a  season,  but  from  year  to  year, 
with  no  prospect  of  ending  its  death-dealing  career, 
intemperance  pours  its  burning  streams  over  the  land 
and  the  world,  with  apparently  no  limit  to  the  dura¬ 
tion  of  its  Reign  of  Terror.  It  is  a  perpetual  war,  a 
standing  pestilence,  an  ever-devouring  famine — 
stretching  on  its  way  from  year  to  year,  from  age  to 
age ;  a  gigantic  power  of  evil  and  ruin,  wounded 
but  not  destroyed,  struck  down  often  by  the  well- 
aimed  and  well-meant  blows  of  its  adversaries,  but 
rising  again  ever  with  renewed  life  and  energy  for 
fastening  itself,  like  the  old  man  of  the  sea  in  the 


INTEMPER  AN  CE  AND  WAR. 


153 


Eastern  tale,  upon  tlie  shoulders  of  men,  so  tenaci¬ 
ously,  that  the  most  earnest  efforts  seem  insufficient 
to  shake  it  off,  and  consigning  its  tens  of  thousands 
to  an  unhonored  tomb,  every  time  the  earth  performs 
its  revolution  round  the  sun. 

There  seems  literally  no  discharge  from  this  war  of 
desolation:  no  stopping  in  the  circuit  of  those  horrid 
wheels,  which,  more  bloody  than  those  of  Jugger¬ 
naut,  mangle  and  crush  human  bodies  without  num¬ 
ber  at  every  inch  of  their  remorseless  progress. 

3.  Intemperance  is  a  greater  evil  than  war,  because 
it  inflicts  more  actual  hurt,  suffering,  and  misery, 
both  upon  its  victim  and  those  connected  with  him. 

As  respects  the  drunkard.  The  death  which  he 
dies  is  for  the  most  part  a  lingering  one — a  death 
protracted  sometimes  to  ten,  twenty,  and  even  thirty 
years  and  upwards.  Much  of  this  period  is  filled  up 
with  bodily  diseases,  and  especially  mental  pangs, 
arising  from  shame,  remorse,  and  terror,  and  the  dis¬ 
grace  and  contempt  he  encounters  from  society — his 
worldly  prospects  blighted,  and  still  more  blighted 
the  prospects  of  a  future  life.  Let  a  man  be  once 
bitten  by  this  serpent  and  stung  by  this  adder,  and 
his  whole  life,  be  it  longer  or  shorter,  is  one  of  suffer¬ 
ing  and  woe.  The  drunkard  may  seem  a  happy  man 
indeed,  while  under  the  influence  of  his  drink — but 

7* 


154 


INTEMPERANCE  AND  WAR. 


when  the  fumes  of  his  debauch  have  passed  off,  and 
the  time  of  sober  reflection  comes,  and  conscience 
resumes  the  throne  which  rum  had  usurped — then  is 
the  hour  of  the  heart’s  agony.  Then  the  poor  bosom 
feels  the  stings  inflicted  by  the  body’s  criminal  ex¬ 
cesses,  and  the  mind,  forced  to  turn  round  and  round 
the  dreadful  subject  which  will  be  uppermost  in  it, 
finds  reflection  so  insupportable,  that  the  bowl  is 
rushed  to,  to  drown  care  and  yield  a  transient  ob¬ 
livion  of  sorrow. 

Do  the  victims  of  war  suffer  pangs  fearful  and 
lasting  as  these?  I  am  not  insensible  to  the  pri¬ 
vations,  hardships,  and  sufferings  of  war — and  God 
forbid  that  I  should  say  one  word  to  diminish  the 
heart’s  horror  of  this  practice  and  sympathy  for  its 
victims.  But  the  soldier,  supposing  him  to  be  a 
sober  man — which  he  often  is  not — and  supposing 
him  to  be  engaged  for  years  together  in  toilsome 
marches,  and  exposed  to  all  the  hardships  incident  to 
his  calling,  is  yet  a  happy  man  compared  with  the 
drunkard.  ITe  is  freed  from  that  inward  gnawing, 
which  preys  upon  the  guilty  mind  as  well  as  body 
like  a  canker.  He  is  often  impressed  with  the  justice 
of  his  cause — feels  proud  of  carrying  forward  to  vic¬ 
tory  his  nation’s  standards,  and  is  stimulated  by  the 
love  of  glory  and  sometimes  of  gain.  So  that  when 


INTEMPERANCE  AND  WAR. 


155 


tlie  mighty  struggle  comes,  lie  can  stand  up  in  the 
serried  ranks  of  war,  with  erect  countenance,  and 
dauntless  mien,  and  when  the  signal  is  given  for  the 
battle  to  close,  can  rush  with  an  eye  of  fire  and  shout 
of  enthusiasm  up  to  the  very  camion’s  mouth.  If  he 
falls  and  dies  in  battle,  the  bullet,  or  sword,  or 
bayonet  that  pierces  him,  gives  often  but  a  momen¬ 
tary  agony.  He  might  compare  his  death  with  the 
lingering  one  of  the  drunkard,  almost  with  words  of 
triumph : 

“  While  gasp  by  gasp,  he  falters  forth  his  soul, 

Ours  with  one  pang,  one  bound,  escapes  control.” 

Even  if  wounded,  maimed  in  limb,  and  so  disabled 
as  to  be  forced  to  drag  out  life  in  an  enfeebled 
and  shattered  body,  he  has  yet  the  recollection  of  his 
glory,  and  his  country’s  gratitude  and  substantial  re¬ 
wards,  to  cheer  his  heart  and  solace  the  decline  of 
his  days.  How  enviable,  therefore,  in  comparison, 
does  the  soldier’s  lot  appear ! 

And  more  enviable  still,  if  we  regard  the  two  in 
the  light  of  family  and  other  relationships.  It  is  as 
honorable  to  die  fighting  for  one’s  country,  as  to  wear 
through  life  the  badges  of  wounds  and  scars,  gained 
in  her  defence.  And  amid  starting  tears  of  a  whole 
family  circle,  copious  gushing  tears,  drawn  from 


156 


INTEMPERANCE  AND  WAR. 


them  by  the  intelligence  that  a  much-loved  member 
of  it,  a  brother,  a  son,  has  fallen  on  a  far-off  battle¬ 
field,  an  emotion  of  pride,  of  gratified  sensibility, 
would  be  felt  at  the  farther  announcement  that  the 
soldier  fell  gallantly  doing  his  duty  in  the  service  of 
his  country.  Mothers  and  fathers,  I  may  safely  put 
the  question  to  you.  Which  would  you  choose,  were 
the  alternative  offered,  forced  upon  you  ?  To  have  a 
beloved  son,  in  the  vigor  of  his  first  manhood,  enlist 
as  a  common  soldier  in  the  army  of  Mexico,*  follow¬ 
ing  his  country’s  flag  from  point  to  point,  enduring 
terrible  hardship  from  heat,  and  thirst,  and  laborious 
marches,  and  hard  fighting,  and  then  falling  bravely 
amid  his  foes,  lying  there,  thrust  through,  mutilated, 
trampled  upon,  in  his  last  gory  bed ;  or  have  him  re¬ 
main  at  home,  first  sipping  at  the  wine  cup,  then 
becoming  fond  of  the  sparkling  joy,  then  spending 
the  night-watches  in  carousing  and  dissipation,  then 
giving  unmistakable  proofs  that  the  lurking  adder 
had  stung  him,  the  manly  form  decaying,  the  innocent 
open  countenance  of  youth  displaced  by  the  glare  of 
guilt  or  the  dark  scowl  of  malignant  passions,  the 
tottering  gait,  the  stuttering  speech,  the  bloated  face, 
the  shaking  hands,  and  by  and  by,  perhaps,  the 

*  The  war  with  this  power  was  in  progress  at  the  time  this  paper 
was  prepared. 


INTEMPERANCE  AND  WAR. 


157 


ravings  of  the  trembling  delirium,  the  shrieks  of 
mortal  agony,  and  then  the  last  mournful  act  in  this 
tragedy — the  grave  closing  over  the  remains  of  a 
drunkard  ?  No  right-minded  parent  would  ever 
hesitate  a  moment  “which  of  the  two  to  choose.” 
Better,  far  better,  for  surviving  friends  to  have  a  son 
and  brother  enlist,  and  fight,  and  die,  in  wars  even 
from  which  no  laurels  might  be  gained — to  die 
dishonored  abroad — than  perish  step  by  step  at  home, 
beneath  the  eye  of  relations  who  are  involved  in  the 
erring  one’s  disgrace,  and  by  his  folly  and  errors  are 
pierced  through  with  many  sorrows. 

4.  Intemperance  is  the  greater  evil,  because  so 
sly,  crafty,  and  insinuating  in  its  character. 

Look  at  war.  Those  who  engage  in  it  cannot  fail 
to  know  that  theirs  is  a  business  of  great  danger  as 
well  as  hardship.  An  army  must  know,  that  when 
the  actual  conflict  comes,  no  man  is  secure  from 
frightful  wounds  or  from  sudden  death.  Each 
soldier,  it  is  true,  may  hope  that  he  shall  escape  un¬ 
harmed,  but  he  must  know,  that  by  the  very  chances 
of  the  fight,  he  is,  perhaps,  as  likely  to  die  as  to  live. 
So  nations,  when  about  to  go  into  war,  cannot  be 
blind  to  the  consequences  which  generally  follow  it. 
They  know  that  each  declaration  of  war  will  result, 
probably,  in  the  loss  of  many  valuable  lives — and 


158 


INTEMPERANCE  AND  WAR. 


that  a  great  amount  of  human  suffering  and  woe, 
and  national  treasure,  and  other  losses,  are  well  nigh 
inseparable  from  its  prosecution,  No  government, 
therefore,  save  a  bloodthirsty  or  imbecile  one,  with 
this  fearful  array  before  its  eyes,  and  in  an  enlight¬ 
ened  Christian  age,  could ,  we  may  certainly  believe, 
precipitate  its  people  into  war,  until  every  argument 
had  been  used,  every  expedient  to  maintain  peace 
and  prevent  bloodshed  exhausted — until,  in  fact,  war 
had  become  unavoidable — a  thing  of  stern,  absolute 
necessity.  And  the  reason  is  clear.  W ar  is  an  evil, 
open  and  above  board ;  palpable  as  the  sun  in  hea¬ 
ven.  No  muffled  drum  proclaims  it.  No  recorder 
or  dulcet  JEolian  harp  breathes  its  name  in  tones  so 
delicately  soft  as  to  deceive  the  senses  which  it 
charms  ;  but  the  clarion’s  peal,  the  trumpet’s  clang, 
“  the  cannon’s  deafening  roar,”  sound  out  its  true 
character  to  the  ends  of  the  earth.  All  men  and  all 
nations  know  perfectly  what  it  is,  what  evils  follow 
in  its  train,  what  evils  spring  from  it,  what  evils,  but 
for  it,  had  never  existed.  The  alternative,  therefore, 
is  before  them.  To  avoid  war  altogether,  and  by 
doing  so,  avoiding  its  evils ;  or  rushing  into  it,  and 
by  doing  so,  encountering  them.  And  the  fact  that 
these  evils  are  so  glaring,  so  clearly  seen  by  all,  is 
one  grand  reason  why  wars,  frequent  enough  already, 


INTEMPERANCE  AND  WAR. 


159 


liave  not  been  more  frequent  still,  to  scathe,  and  de¬ 
face,  and  desolate  the  world. 

Not  thus  openly,  by  the  sun’s  light,  are  recruits 
raised  to  swell  the  army  of  intemperance.  I  grant 
you,  that  the  effects  of  this  blasting  evil  are  palpable 
to  every  eye.  No  man  who  sees  at  all  can  fail  to  see 
them.  But  not  to  the  drinker  as  he  first  commences 
the  practice,  as  to  the  soldier  enlisting  for  war,  is 
there  the  same  probability  of  receiving  wounds  or  of 
perishing.  The  dangers  that  lurk  in  the  wine  cup 
are  not  seen  by  him  who  takes  it  for  the  first  time, 
as  the  dangers  of  war  appear  to  the  thoughtful  sol¬ 
dier,  when  he  goes  forth  to  battle  with  his  country’s 
foes.  The  incipient  drunkard  feels  himself  perfectly 
secure  from  hurt,  though  he  must  see  all  around  him 
the  fruits  of  drinking  habits  in  others.  There  is  not 
to  him,  as  to  the  soldier,  a  contingency  in  prospect, 
of  falling  dying  or  wounded.  He  scouts  all  idea  of 
danger.  He  regards  the  sparkling  wine  as  his  friend 
rather  than  his  foe.  No  trump  et-tongued  tones  of 
caution  startle  him,  or  put  him  on  his  guard.  Thus 
the  very  delusion  he  labors  under,  in  respect  to  his 
safety,  becomes  the  occasion  of  his  fall.  The  wine 
cup  is  worse,  more  to  be  dreaded  than  the  rattle¬ 
snake,  which  alarms  before  it  strikes.  Happy  for 
the  young  man,  about  to  raise  the  rosy  wine  to  his 


160 


INTEMPERANCE  AND  WAR. 


lips  for  the  first  time,  could  he  hear  the  rattling 
sound  warning  him  that  he  held  a  reptile  in  his 
hand — that  he  might  be  safe  from  its  fangs  by  dash¬ 
ing  the  poisonous  thing  to  the  ground. 

Hundreds  and  thousands  of  young  men  are,  at 
this  moment,  sipping  the  wine  cup  utterly  uncon¬ 
scious  of  the  least  peril,  who,  ten  or  fifteen  years 
hence,  will  be  among  the  sots  of  the  land,  or  among 
its  unhonored  dead.  The  reflection  is  an  appalling 
one.  It  is  because  intemperance  is  so  sly  and  insi¬ 
dious  an  evil,  that  it  is  so  much  more  terrific  and 
fatal  than  the  other — for  an  open  enemy  is  ever  less 
to  be  dreaded  than  a  secret  one.  In  the  one  case, 
men  see  the  horrible  array,  and  prepare  for  the 
attack ;  in  the  other,  surprise  increases  the  effect  of 
the  unsuspected  blow,  and  renders  it  often  decisive 
and  overwhelming. 

5.  Intemperance  is  a  worse  evil  than  the  other, 
because  harder  to  cure. 

War  is  hard  enough  to  cure,  as  the  bitter  expe¬ 
rience  of  all  ages  can  testify.  It  is  a  disease  upon 
the  body  politic,  which  ah  the  remedies  of  past  gene¬ 
rations  have  as  yet  failed  to  remove  entirely.  Whe¬ 
ther  a  perfect  cure  is  altogether  practicable,  is 
a  problem  which  remains  still  to  be  solved.  Pro¬ 
phecy,  indeed,  points  to  the  period  when  the  sword 


INTEMPEKANCE  AND  WAE. 


161 


sliall  be  beaten  into  a  pruning-hook,  and  nations 
shall  cease  from  war — but  this  consummation  re¬ 
mains  still  a  prophetic  one — a  period  to  be  looked, 
and  waited,  and  prayed  for,  till  God  in  his  own  good 
time  and  pleasure,  bring  it  to  pass.  Though  a  per¬ 
fect  cure  has  not  been  wrought  as  yet,  something, 
however,  has  been  done  towards  it,  some  approxima¬ 
tion  towards  a  cure  has,  we  fondly  hope,  been 
reached.  The  war  spirit  is  less  rampant  than  for¬ 
merly.  Sentiments  in  favor  of  peace  have  been 
gaining  ground  and  taking  root  in  the  heart  of  the 
nations.  The  spirit  of  the  Gospel  in  respect  to 
bloodshed  and  strife  is  more  extensively  active  and 
influential.  A  disposition  to  have  peace  and  pre¬ 
serve  it,  to  loathe  war  and  to  shun  it,  is,  we  will 
hope,  exerting  a  noiseless  but  more  wide-spread 
influence  than  before.  Since  the  slaughter  of  W ater- 
loo,  the  temple  of  Janus  throughout  the  world, 
almost  may  be  said  to  have  been  shut.  With  a  few 
exceptions  the  nations  have  enjoyed  a  profound  ex¬ 
emption  from  the  horrid  din  and  blood-curdling 
butcheries  of  war.  And  the  aversion  to  breaking  up 
this  repose,  to  rushing  into  conflict,  seems  to  be 
growing  stronger  and  stronger — while  the  disposition 
to  settle  controversies  between  nations  by  negotiation, 
mediation,  or  convention,  appears  to  be  regarded 


162 


INTEMPERANCE  AND  WAR. 


with  increasing  favor.  This  is  right.  This  is  a 
cheering  sign  of  the  times — a  happy  angnry  for  the 
future.  And  just  in  proportion  as  this  disposition 
prevails  and  gains  strength,  does  the  prospect  of 
curing  this  evil  brighten,  and  the  actual  cure 
advance  towards  a  successful  issue. 

But  Intemperance — what  progress  has  been  made 
in  arresting  and  curing  it,  and  what  prospect  of  its 
complete  eradication  or  removal  opens  before  us  ? 
Seated  in  the  very  vitals  of  society — strengthening 
itself  by  the  aid  of  custom,  habit,  corrupt  sentiment, 
and  evil  example — assailing  its  victims  not  with 
open,  manly  attack,  but  creeping  stealthily  and 
tiger-like  towards  them,  till  within  the  distance  of  its 
fatal  spring — the  ranks  falling  before  it,  as  constantly 
filled  up,  like  the  ranks  of  some  liotly-contested  bat¬ 
tle,  by  others  who  press  forward  from  behind,  laugh¬ 
ing  to  scorn  all  the  arguments,  efforts,  organizations, 
and  hopes  of  its  strongest  foes — yielding  for  a  time 
to  the  tremendous  blows  struck  against  it,  but  rising 
again  to  renew  the  struggle  and  win  back  the 
ground  which  it  had  lost — heedless  of  all  the  re¬ 
straints  of  law,  the  blood  of  its  victims,  the  anguish 
of  the  countless  bosoms  wrung  by  its  enormities,  the 
agonized  feelings  of  humanity — standing  up  still  in 
unbroken  might,  notwithstanding  all  its  past  bruises 


INTEMPERANCE  AND  WAR. 


163 


and  wounds,  and  grinning  exultingly  as  it  proclaims 
defiance  to  every  foe-,  and  every  combination  arrayed 
against  it, — wbat  prospect  is  there  of  removing  this 
giant  malady — what  remedies  can  be  used  which 
have  not  been  resorted  to  already?  Do  you  say 
that  some  progress  has  been  made  in  effecting  a 
cure  ?  Thank  God,  there  has  been.  We  may  indeed 
shudder  as  we  think,  what  had  been  the  condition  of 
the  land,  had  the  insensibility  of  twenty  years  ago 
continued,  and  had  not  the  God-sent  Temperance 
Society,  with  healing  in  its  wings,  come  forward  to 
the  rescue  ?  The  alarm  has  been  taken,  the  destroyer 
met,  and  his  terrible  progress  partially  arrested.  But 
notwithstanding  all  that  has  been  done,  the  prospect 
of  a  perfect  cure  seems  almost  as  far  off  as  ever. 
The  thousand  fountains  of  intemperance  continue 
still  to  pour  forth  their  streams  of  death  all  over  the 
land.  The  young  still  look  upon  the  wine  when  it  is 
red,  and  sip  it  till  the  adder  stings  them,  and  thus 
the  ranks  of  the  victimized  are  so  well  and  con¬ 
stantly  supplied,  that  no  sensible  reduction  in  the 
total  annual  loss  of  life  has  yet  been  witnessed.  Fast 
as  one  year  carries  otf  its  thirty  or  forty  thousand 
victims  in  this  country,  as  great  a  multitude  come 
forward  to  take  the  gloomy  plunge  into  the  regions 
of  darkness  the  next. 


164 


INTEMPERANCE  AND  WAR. 


It  is  thus  far  more  incurable  than  war.  War,  at 
worst,  is  an  intermittent  dise.ase,  while  this  rages  and 
burns,  without  the  least  cessation  of  its  fury.  The 
fountains  of  war,  supplied  by  men’s  evil  passions,  are 
deep  and  bitter  enough ;  but  those  of  Intemperance, 
fed  and  kept  full  by  the  unexhausted  supplies  already 
named,  are  deeper  and  bitterer  still.  What,  save  an 
Almighty  arm,  can  dry  them  up  ? 

In  this  very  reflection  is  our  hope  and  undoubting 
confidence  of  success.  When  Elijah  poured  forth 
his  soul  to  God  that  he  would  display  the  might  of 
His  power  to  abash  his  foes,  and  magnify  His  name, 
and  render  truth  triumphant — the  gracious  answer 
was  revealed,  “  the  fire  of  the  Lord  fell  and  con¬ 
sumed  the  burnt  sacrifice,  and  the  wood,  and  the 
stones,  and  the  dust,  and  licked  up  the  water  that 
was  in  the  trench” — -so  that  the  very  idolaters  were 
forced  to  acknowledge  “the  Lord  He  is  God — the 
Lord  He  is  the  God.”  Such  prayers  of  faith  that 
will  not  be  refused,  must  still  be  wafted  to  “the 
hills,”  where  the  Holiest  has  his  dwelling-place — 
their  sincerity  proved  by  earnest  persevering  efforts, 
which  neither  opposition  can  daunt,  nor  obstacles 
turn  aside  from  their  purpose ;  and  He  who  answered 
Elijah  by  fire  will  not  fail  to  bless  the  efforts  and 
prayers  of  those  who  are  engaged  in  this  great  work 


INTEMPER  AN  CE  AND  WAR. 


165 


— causing  the  fire  of  truth  and  light  and  the  Spirit’s 
energy  to  descend,  drying  up  to  their  very  fountains 
the  streams  which  have  so  long  borne  death  and 
desolation  through  the  world,  and  extorting  even 
from  unbelieving  lips  the  acknowledgment,  “  the 
Lord  He  is  the  God.” 


THE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH. 


DISCOURSE  AT  THE  DEDICATION  OF  A  CHURCH. 

“And  I  eay  also  unto  thee,  that  thou  art  Peter,  and  upon  this 
rock  I  will  build  my  Church,  and  the  gates  of  hell  shall  not  prevail 
against  it.”  Matt.  xvi.  18. 

This  verse  and  tlie  one  that  follows  it,  have  sorely 
tried  the  patience  and  ingenuity  of  biblical  critics. 
And  not  without  reason,  for  on  the  interpretation  of 
it  depend  two  classes  of  doctrines  or  opinions  wide¬ 
ly  variant  from  each  other;  the  one  lying  at  the 
foundation  of  one  of  the  darling  dogmas  of  the 
Romish  Church,  while  the  other  is  interwoven  writh 
the  spirit  and  integrity  of  the  Protestant  evangelical 
faith.  The  Church  of  Rome  bases  upon  this  passage 
mainly,  the  supremacy  and  infallibility  of  the  Pope, 
and  the  power  of  that  hierarchy  which  professes  to 
recognise  in  the  Pope  a  true  successor  of  Peter,  in¬ 
vested  with  all  the  authority  with  which,  it  is  alleged, 
Peter  was  invested  by  his  Lord.  If  our  Lord  ad¬ 
dressed  his  disciple  on  this  occasion  as  the  rock  on 
which  His  Church  was  to  rest  in  all  coming  times — it* 


TILE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CIIUECII.  167 


the  Master’s  declaration  must  hear  and  be  restricted 
to  this  meaning — if  Christ  designed  to  convey  this 
specific  idea,  and  to  clothe  his  disciple  with  this 
authority,  not  to  be  afterwards  revoked  or  annulled ; 
then  it  is  hard  to  see  how  the  conclusion  to  which 
the  Romanist  has  come  can  be  avoided.  The  Church, 
in  this  case,  must  have  been  budded  and  now  rests 
on  Peter,  for  what  the  Lord  declares  authoritatively 
He  will  do,  is  final  and  beyond  appeal.  His  successor 
• — if  the  descent  be  truly  derived  and  without  flaw — - 
now  sits  in  his  chair,  and  wields  no  usurped  or  un¬ 
delegated  authority.  He  is  what  he  is  claimed  to 
be,  the  vicegerent  of  Christ,  having  the  keys  of  the 
kingdom  at  his  girdle,  with  power  to  bind  or  loose,  to 
remit  sins  or  not,  as  may  seem  most  fitting  to  his 
supreme  and  indisputable  will. 

Put  this  interpretation,  however  consoling  to  the 
faithful,  has  flaws  and  defects  about  it  to  Protestant 
eyes.  It  asserts  a  principle  which  can  never  be 
admitted  without  demonstration, — for  the  principle, 
though  sounding  plausibly,  involves  consequences 
revolting  to  our  reason,  and  derogatory  to  the  claims 
and  authority  of  Christ.  In  an  issue  of  such  moment, 
we  require  something  more  than  a  single  unsup¬ 
ported  text,  though  never  so  explicit,  to  satisfy  us  that 
our  blessed  Lord  designed  to  found  His  Church  upon 


168  THE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH. 

an  apostle,  and  to  invest  him  and  his  successors  with 
powers  so.  vast  and  irresponsible  as  those  arrogated 
by  the  Pope  and  by  his  adherents.  The  words,  how¬ 
ever,  in  their  connexion,  furnish  a  wide  margin  for 
exegesis,  that  will  neither  rob  the  Master  of  the  honor 
and  glory  due  unto  his  name,  nor  exalt  a  mortal, 
weak,  frail,  and  erring,  and  with  all  his  weaknesses 
and  errors  often  full  blown  about  him,  to  a  seat 
higher  than  angels  occupy. 

Our  Lord  had  been  asking  his  disciples  the  ques¬ 
tion,  “Whom  do  men  say  that  I,  the  Son  of  man, 
am?”  The  reply  was,  “Some  say  that  thou  art  John 
the  Baptist,  some  Elias,  and  others  Jeremias,  or  one 
of  the  prophets.”  Lie  saith  unto  them,  “  Whom  say 
ye  that  I  am  ?”  And  Peter,  wTho  was  the  impetuous 
out-spoken  disciple,  always  foremost  of  the  twelve  to 
answer  questions  put  to  them  all,  at  once  responds, 
“  Thou  art  the  Christ,  the  Son  of  the  living  God.” 
The  Master  replies — “Blessed  art  thou  Simon  Bar- 
jona,  for  flesh  and  blood  hath  not  revealed  it  unto 
thee,  but  my  Father  which  is  in  heaven — and  I  say 
unto  thee  that  thou  art  Peter,  and  upon  this  rock  ” — • 
that  is,  upon  this  confession  of  thine,  thus  divinely 
revealed,  of  my  true  Sonship  and  Messiahship — a 
confession  embracing  the  cordial  reception  of  the 
divine  plan  for  saving  man,  through  the  Gospel  of 


THE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH.  169 


reconciliation,  to  be  afterwards  preached  by  you  to 
the  Gentiles-upon  this  confession,  the  badge,  as  it  is, 
of  a  true  apostlesliip,  will  I  build  my  Church.  In 
other  words,  Christ  declares,  “I  will  build  my 
Church  on  thee,  Peter,  as  one  of  the  preachers  of  my 
Gospel,  confessing  now,  while  others  disallow  and 
deny  me,  that  thou  recognisest  my  claims,  and  art 
ready  to  go  forth  at  my  bidding  into  all  the  world, 
and  offer  the  discipleship  of  the  Gospel  everywhere 
to  sinful  and  benighted  men.”  Or,  if  we  make  the 
epithet  refer  directly  to  the  disciple  rather  than  his 
confession,  then,  “Thou  art  Peter, — Pock — as  thy 
name  imports,  and  corresponding  with  this  name 
shall  thy  work  and  office  be,  for  upon  thee — upon 
thy  ministry  as  upon  a  rock — shall  the  foundation  of 
the  Church  be  laid.”  And  the  promise  here  made 
was  accordingly  fulfilled,  by  Christ’s  using  Peter’s 
ministry  in  laying  the  foundation  of  the  Church  both 
among  Jews  and  Gentiles,  he  being  the  first  and 
most  successful  preacher  to  them  both,  and  making 
from  them  the  first  proselytes  to  Christianity.  At 
the  Pentecostal  effusion  three  thousand  were  received 
into  the  church  on  confession  of  faith  and  baptism, 
while  the  first  mention  of  a  Christian  Church  is 
found  in  the  same  chapter  that  records  this  marvel¬ 
lous  outpouring  of  the  Holy  Ghost.  Among  the  Gen- 

8 


170  THE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH. 

tiles  also,  the  conversion  of  Cornelius,  through  the 
instrumentality  of  Peter,  signalizes  the  foundation  of 
the  Church  being  laid,  the  comely  superstructure 
that  should  arise  upon  it  being  composed  of  ido¬ 
latrous  throngs  from  various  peoples,  no  longer 
“  strangers  and  foreigners,  but  fellow-citizens  with  the 
saints  and  of  the  household  of  God.” 

If,  then,  any  pre-eminence  were  given  to  Peter,  by 
the  language  in  which  the  Lord  addressed  him,  it  is 
a  pre-eminence  growing  out  of  the  position  he  was  to 
hold,  as  first  preacher  to  the  wandering  and  sin- 
blinded — a  preacher  whose  labors  should,  with  God’s 
blessing,  be  productive  of  larger  and  more  signal 
results  than  those  of  his  apostolic  co-workers  in  the  mis¬ 
sionary  field.  His  doctrines  and  preaching,  with  the 
Master’s  promised  presence  and  aid,  and  the  doctrines 
and  preaching,  none  the  less,  of  his  fellow  “ambassadors 
for  Christ,”  were  the  rock  on  which  the  fair  and  well 
compacted  fabric  of  the  Church  should  securely  rest. 

This  rock,  this  foundation,  thus  characterized  in 
general  terms,  deserves  to  be  considered  somewhat 
more  particularly.  The  Church  was  appointed  to 
rest  upon  the  apostles,  and  those  who  should  come 
after  them  in  the  rightful  exercise  of  their  high  and 
heaven-derived  functions — that  is,  upon  the  order  of 
the  Christian  ministry,  which,  by  Christ’s  direction 


THE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH.  171 


and  decree,  was  to  be  perpetuated  “  alway,  even  to 
the  end  of  the  world.” 

In  the  arrangements  of  God’s  house,  the  institution 
of  the  Christian  ministry  is  essential  to  the  extension 
and  well-being,  and,  so  far  as  we  can  see,  to  the  very 
continuance  and  existence  of  the  Church.  “  For,” 
asks  the  apostle,  significantly,  “  how  shall  they  call 
on  him  in  whom  they  have  not  believed  ?  and  how 
shall  they  believe  in  him  of  whom  they  have  not 
heard  %  and  how  shall  they  hear  without  a  preacher  ? 
and  how  shall  they  preach  except  they  be  sent  ?”  as 
it  is  written,  “  How  beautiful  are  the  feet  of  them 
that  preach  the  Gospel,  and  bring  good  tidings  of 
good  things ;”  that  is,  Faith  cometh  by  hearing, 
and  hearing  by  the  word  of  God,  and  the  word  of 
God  by  the  lips  of  the  preacher,  and  the  preacher 
from  Him  who  called  him,  raised  him  up,  qualified 
him  by  breathing  the  Spirit  on  him,  made  him  an 
accredited  minister  from  the  court  of  heaven,  gave 
him  favor  in  the  sight  of  the  people,  and  crowned 
his  words  and  labors  with  the  promised  success.  We 
thus  see  the  important  relation  which  the  ministry 
sustain  to  the  Church — how  necessary  they  are  to 
the  accomplishment  of  the  distinctive  objects  for 
which  the  Church  exists.  Strike  this  link  from  the 
foregoing  series,  and  the  whole  chain  is  parted — the 


172  THE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH. 

interval  between  Christ  and  tlie  soul,  between  heaven 
and  the  sinner,  is  boundless  and  impassable.  The 
sinner  indeed  might  have  been  saved,  perhaps,  on 
other  terms  and  by  another  process.  Christ  Jesns 
might  have  announced  his  Gospel  everywhere  mira¬ 
culously.  A  perpetual  miracle  might  have  intro¬ 
duced  converts  into  the  pale  of  the  Church,  and 
supplied  her  with  what  is  necessary  for  her  subsist¬ 
ence  and  expansion.  But  God,  in  his  wisdom,  hath 
ordered  otherwise.  ITe  hath  ordained  the  salvation 
of  souls  through  the  “  foolishness  of  preaching,” 
and  through  the  agency  of  “  earthen  vessels,”  men 
of  “  like  infirmities”  with  those  whom  they  labor  to 
instruct  and  win  to  Christ.  It  is  obvious,  then,  to  see 
how  the  Church  may  be  said  to  be  built  on  Peter,  as 
one  of  the  apostles,  and  by  certain  deduction  on  the 
preachers  of  Christ,  who  perpetuate  the  sacred 
order.  And  in  view  of  all  this,  the  apostle’s  empha¬ 
tic  language  to  the  Ephesian  Church  is  as  intelligible 
as  it  is  decisive  :  “Ye  are  no  more  strangers  and 
foreigners,  but  fellow-citizens  with  the  saints  and  of 
the  household  of  God,  and  are  built  on  the  founda¬ 
tion  of  the  apostles  and  prophets.” 

But  the  Church  is  built  on  this  foundation  only 
relatively ,  and  by  no  means  in  an  absolute  and  un¬ 
qualified  sense.  For  the  apostles  and  preachers  of 


THE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH.  173 


Clirist  crucified  are  nothing  in  themselves.  They 
have  not  the  power  of  remitting  sins,  of  giving  abso¬ 
lution,  of  breaking  the  stony  heart,  of  pouring  celes¬ 
tial  illumination  upon  the  darkened  mind,  of  driving 
out  the  unruly  demons  of  inborn  lusts,  of  establish¬ 
ing  within,  holy  principles  and  dispositions,  or  renew¬ 
ing  the  frame  and  temper  of  human  souls.  They  are 
nothing  without  the  pure  word  of  God,  the  blessed 
Gospel  of  Him  who  spake  as  man  never  spake. 
“  But  though  we  or  an  angel  from  heaven  preach 
any  other  Gospel  unto  you  than  that  which  we  have 
preached  unto  you,  let  him  be  accursed.”  If  they 
go  about,  therefore,  with  their  own  vain  utterances, 
with  the  enticing  words  of  man’s  wisdom,  or  words 
issuing  from  the  “  cunning  craftiness  of  men,”  or 
with  the  barren  dogmas  of  “  philosophy,  falsely  so 
called,”  what  they  speak — so  far  as  any  radical  reno¬ 
vating  effect  is  concerned — is  “  as  sounding  brass 
and  a  tinkling  cymbal.”  They  are  shorn  of  all 
power,  and  are  weaker  than  Sampson  when  his  glory 
was  departed.  It  is  the  genuine  message  of  the 
cross, — Jesus  Christ,  the  same  yesterday,  to-day,  and 
for  ever — the  way,  the  truth,  the  resurrection,  and  the 
life,  which  constitutes  the  essence  of  the  heaven-sent 
good  tidings  of  great  joy,  and  is  made  the  wisdom 
of  God  and  power  of  God  unto  salvation.  And  just 


174  THE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH. 

as  they  honor  and  obey  the  Master  by  thus  announc¬ 
ing  Him,  and  showing  themselves  loyal  and  faithful 
ambassadors,  by  setting  forth  His*  word  and  gospel^ 
and  nothing  beyond  nor  short  of  this,  can  they  count 
upon  His  approbation,  and  find  their  work  prospered 
and  the  Church  enlarged,  and  the  high  object  of 
their  mission  successful. 

Hor  is  it  the  preaching  of  the  doctrines  of  the  cross 
alone,  by  the  true  ambassadors,  that  makes  their 
labors  savingly  powerful  and  efficacious.  Unless  the 
Spirit  be  poured  upon  them  from  on  high,  they  toil 
in  vain,  and  spend  their  strength  for  naught.  Peter, 
with  his  rugged  and  indomitable  courage ;  Paul,  with 
his  burning  zeal  and  utter  consecration ;  Apollos, 
with  his  fervid  and  melting  *  eloquence,  may  unite 
their  gifts  and  efforts  to  make  the  moral  wastes  as 
the  garden  of  the  Lord — but  except  the  increase 
come  from  God,  all  remains  an  unbroken  scene  of 
barrenness  and  desolation.  Ho  strength  of  towering 
logic,  no  splendor  of  imagination  thrown  around 
words  of  melodious  sound,  no  energy  of  the  most 
persuasive  and  overwhelming  oratory,  no  self- 
abandoning  heroism,  which,  in  Christ’s  service, 
counts  pains,  perils,  snares,  enemies — what  Job’s 
leviathan  counted  the  darts  that  rained  upon  him 
as  stubble — with  the  address  and  skill  of  disarming 


THE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH.  175 


prejudice  and  hostility,  and  forcing  error  to  how 
before  the  majesty  of  truth — none  of  these  can  move 
at  all  the  dry  bones,  nor  the  flesh  that  covers  them, 
while  as  yet  no  vital  spark  divine  warms  and  ani¬ 
mates.  Not  until  the  breath  of  the  Lord  is  invoked 
to  breathe  upon  these  slain,  and  the  Spirit,  responsive, 
quickens  the  inanimate  clay — not  till  then  is  activity 
displayed,  and  the  sinewy  arm  uplifted,  and  the 
buoyant  shout  heard,  and  all  the  power  of  the  living 
body  put  forth.  It  is  the  spirit  that  awakeneth  from 
the  dead — that  accompanying  the  word  preached 
by  Christ’s  ministers,  makes  it  pungent,  convincing, 
piercing,  and  cleaving,  like  a  two-edged  sword — bring¬ 
ing  the  proud  into  the  posture  of  the  publican,  caus¬ 
ing  the  wayward  feet  to  be  arrested,  and  the  stubborn 
will  to  bend,  and  the  stout  heart  to  relent,  and  the 
dry  eyes  to  overflow,  and  those  at  ease  in  Zion  to 
groan  and  utter  the  burst  of  agony,  “  Wliat  shall  we 
do  ?  ”  And  thus  men  are  made  willing  in  the  day  of 
God’s  power,  and  come  thronging  as  weeping  peni¬ 
tents  to  the  door  of  His  house,  with  tremulous  hand 
and  voice,  knocking  and  saying,  “  Lord,  open  unto  us 
while  the  gracious  promise,  u  Knock  and  it  shall  be 
opened  unto  you,”  is  speedily  verified,  and  lo,  the 
Church,  the  Lord’s  holy  tabernacle  among  men,  is 
filled  with  'weeping,  wrondering,  rejoicing  guests! 


176  THE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH. 

% 

Thus  you  see,  dear  brethren,  the  beautiful  con¬ 
catenation.  The  ordained  preacher,  called  and  sent 
forth  on  his  noble  mission,  the  word  of  God  which  he 
preaches,  to  take  hold  on  the  understanding  and 
heart,  and  the  Holy  Spirit  to  direct  the  arrows  of 
truth  and  make  them  sharp  in  the  hearts  of  the 
King’s  enemies.  Ho  link  of  this  chain  can  be  spared, 
and  each  link  is  kept  together  in  its  place  by  Him 
who  sits  at  God’s  right  hand,  and  the  whole  chain 
held  in  His  omnipotent  grasp,  so  that  whatever  thing 
it  embraces  and  upholds,  is  firm  and  secure  as  His 
own  eternal  throne.  The  Church  is  built  on  the 
foundation  of  the  apostles,  but  the  apostles  are 
nothing  without  the  truths  which  they  preach,  and 
these  truths  devoid  of  all  efficacy  without  the  Spirit’s 
life-giving  power — while  Christ  the  Lord  sits  supreme 
on  his  royal  seat,  originating  all,  informing  all,  guid¬ 
ing,  controlling,  and  prospering  all,  as  the  head  rules 
the  body,  and  is  essential  to  the  vitality  and  health 
of  all  the  members.  And  hence  you  will  easily  infer, 
that  Christ  himself  in  reality  is  the  foundation  of  His 
Church;  that  it  rests  on  him  when  said  to  rest  on 
His  apostles,  and  you  will  understand  the  significant 
import  of  St.  Paul’s  striking  expression,  “built  on  the 
foundation  of  prophets  and  apostles,  Jesus  Christ 
himself  being  the  chief  corner-stone.” 


THE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH.  177 


II.  I  pass  to  consider  the  building  of  the  Church — 
the  raising  and  finishing  of  the  superstructure.  Here 
there  is  nothing  difficult  or  perplexed,  but  all  is  ex¬ 
plicit  and  plain.  The  builder  is  Christ,  according  to 
his  express  declaration :  “  On  this  rock  I  will  build 
my  church.”  The  expression  is  not  only  unmistak¬ 
able,  but  strongly  indicative.  It  denotes  not  only 
resolution,  but  power  to  will  and  to  do  according  to 
His  own  good  pleasure — power  to  gather  materials 
for  the  edifice,  such  as  will  be  most  suitable  for  its 
construction — power  to  make  it  a  spacious  as  well  as 
beautiful  structure ;  to  give  it  just  and  harmonious 
proportions,  and  to  adorn  it  with  comeliness  and 
grace ;  and  power  to  impart  to  it  strength  and  dura¬ 
bility  as  well  as  capacity  and  fitness.  His  determi¬ 
nation  is,  to  rear  the  building  His  Church,  and  adapt 
it  in  all  its  parts,  for  the  grand  purposes  of  its  con¬ 
struction.  And  all  might  resides  with  Him  to  make 
it  just  what  he  designs  it  to  be,  for  with  Jehovah 
the  Christ,  to  will  is  to  do — to  purpose  and  determine 
is  to  effect  and  execute.  Since,  then,  our  Divine 
Lord  is  the  builder — the  great  Master-builder,  we 
may  fitly  call  him — we  may  rest  assured  that  the 
structure  will  be  possessed  of  these  things, — suitable¬ 
ness  of  material,  fitness,  and  grace,  both  of  pro¬ 
portion  and  appearance,  sufficiency  of  dimension,  and 

8* 


178  THE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH. 

enduring  strength.  I  will  touch  upon  these  several 
articles. 

1.  As  to  its  materials.  They  will  he  stones,  rough, 
rugged,  and  unsightly,  when  first  seen  in  their  native 
quarry,  appearing  stubborn  and  intractable  as  they 
lie  there,  covered  with  dirt  and  excrescences,  and 
seemingly  not  worthy  to  be  looked  after  and  sought ; 
but  in  fact  costly  and  precious,  like  the  marble  for 
the  building  of  Jerusalem,  sought  afar  off,  quarried 
and  brought  to  the  holy  city  with  infinite  skill  and 
labor,  because  just  adapted  for  the  purpose  in  view, 
and  a  material  not  to  be  dispensed  with  in  the  rearing 
of  the  imposing  fabric.  Sought  out  thus  from  afar, 
these  human  stones,  by  Him  who  came  travelling  in 
the  greatness  of  His  strength,  bowing  himself  to  the 
attitude  of  one  who  serves  and  labors,  that  with 
struggling,  toil,  groans,  and  sweat,  He  might  tear  them 
from  their  bed,  smooth  off  their  roughness,  hew  and 
shape  them  dexterously,  and  polish  them  till  beauties 
unsuspected  before  became  disclosed  to  the  eye. 
And  they  appear  there  totally  changed  and  ready  to 
form  an  useful  not  less  than  ornamental  part  of  the 
building.  Yes,  and  these  stones  thus  fitted  for  their 
place  and  office  in  the  edifice  here,  will  become  also 
fitted  for  a  nobler  building — a  house  not  made  with 
hands,  eternal  in  the  heavens.  For,  as  Leighton 


T11E  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCII.  179 


finely  remarks,  “  tlie  stones  that  are  appointed  for 
that  glorious  temple  above,  are  hewn  and  polished 
and  prepared  for  it  here,  as  the  stones  were  wrought 
and  prepared  in  the  mountains  for  building  the 
temple  of  Jerusalem.”  Such  are  the  chief  materials 
employed  in  this  great  Christian  temple,  the  Church. 
Each  sinner  a  stone  in  its  rough  and  stubborn  state, 
but  each  new-born  rejoicing  convert,  each  blood- 
ransomed  member  of  the  one  true  body  of  which 
Christ  is  the  head,  a  lively  polished  stone,  occupying 
its  place  in  the  sacred  structure,  and  aiding  in  the 
enlargement,  compactness,  and  completion  of  the 
work. 

2.  But  there  is  grace  also  and  comeliness  about 
the  edifice. 

The  Architect  has  master-skill  and  ingenuity. 
He  loves  beauty  in  the  products  of  his  hands,  and 
loathes  defect  and  deformity.  TIis  fingers  spanned 
the  graceful  arches  of  the  sky,  blended  and  har¬ 
monized  the  delicate  tints  of  the  rainbow,  stamped 
order  and  concord  upon  the  countless  orbs  wdiich 
twinkle  upon  us  from  the  vault  of  heaven,  spread 
beauty  over  all  this  earth  in  infinitely  various  forms, 
impressed  it  on  the  mountain’s  brow,  on  the  rolling 
flood,  on  the  greenwood’s  quivering  leaves,  on  the 
“ thousands  hills”  wdiere  rejoicing  cattle  feed  and 


180  THE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH. 

gambol,  and  on  the  little  lily  of  the  vale,  more 
glorious  than  Solomon  in  all  his  glory,  with  its  bright- 
hned  companions  everywhere  exhaling  their  fra¬ 
grance,  and  tuneful  in  the  praise  of  the  hand  that 
robes  them  in  splendor. 

And  since  beauty  and  harmony  are  a  fixed  law  of 
his  empire,  shall  his  loved  building,  the  Church, 
reared  with  his  own  grace-scattering  and  order¬ 
shaping  hands,  lack  them  ?  Shall  this  work  arise 
mis-shapen,  disjointed,  disproportioned,  unseemly 
— an  anomaly  amongst  the  products  of  his  skill  and 
power — an  eyesore  to  those  who  pass  by,  so  that  all 
who  behold  shall  mock  and  deride  ?  Shall  the  natu¬ 
ral  temple  shine  with  splendors  all  around  us,  and  be 
adorned  with  garments  of  loveliness  and  grace,  and 
the  spiritual  temple  stand  unsymmetrical  and  attrac¬ 
tionless  ?  No  ;  but  this  building,  “  beautiful  as  Tir- 
zah,”  shall  stand  forth,  arrayed  in  transcendent 
charms.  “  Awake,  arise,  O  Zion,  put  on  thy  beauti¬ 
ful  garments,  O  thou  chosen  temple  of  the  Lord ;  for 
thy  Maker,  thy  builder,  is  thy  husband,  and  thou 
shalt  be  adorned  as  a  bridegroom  adorns  his  bride, 
decking  her  with  ornaments,  putting  bracelets  on 
her  hands,  and  a  chain  on  her  neck,  and  a  jewel  on 
her  forehead,  and  ear-rings  in  her  ears,  and  a  beau¬ 
tiful  crown  upon  her  head ;  and  thy  renown,  saith 


TICE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH. 


181 


tlie  bridegroom,  shall  go  forth  among  the  heathen 
for  thy  beauty,  for  it  is  perfect  through  my  comeli¬ 
ness,  which  I  have  put  upon  thee,  saith  the  Lord 
God.” — Ezek.  xvi. 

This  is  the  building  which,  “  fair  as  the  moon,’* 
shall  arise  beneath  the  eye  and  the  plastic  power  of 
the  great  Master-builder.  It  is  the  Lord’s  work,  and 
marvellous  in  our  eyes.  And  as  Solomon’s  temple, 
reared  by  divine  direction,  the  fruit  of  long  years  of 
stupendous  industry  and  toil,  glittered  as  the  sun’s 
rays  fell  upon  it,  with  intolerable  brightness,  awaken¬ 
ing  the  pride  of  the  Jewish  heart,  and  the  admira¬ 
tion  of  surrounding  peoples,  who  gazed  upon  its 
incomparable  proportions  and  majestic  outline, — so 
the  Church,  constructed  with  consummate  skill  and 
for  a  nobler  purpose,  without  wrinkle  to  mar  its 
symmetry,  or  spot  to  deface  its  beauty,  the  Hew 
Jerusalem  coming  down  from  God  out  of  heaven, 
as  a  bride  adorned  for  her  husband,  will  stand 
the  wonder  and  joy  of  beholders,  prompting  each 

glad  and  grateful  heart  to  utter  the  burst  of  rap- 

» 

ture — 

“  I  love  her  gates,  I  love  the  road, 

The  Church  adorned  with  grace 
Stands  like  a  palace  built  for  God, 

To  show  His  milder  face  1” 


182  THE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH. 

3.  Its  dimensions  sliall  be  ample.  There  must  be 
room  in  it  for  all  the  ransomed  of  the  Lord  who 
shall  come  to  Zion  with  songs  and  everlasting  joy. 
“  Come,  for  all  things  are  now  ready,”  was  and  is 
the  gracious  invitation  to  the  wayward  and  ruined. 
And  when  many  of  the  bidden  came  not,  the  com¬ 
mand  issued,  “  Go  forth  into  the  lanes  and  highways, 
and  compel  the  blind,  and  halt,  and  outcast  to  come 
in,  that  my  table  and  my  house  may  be  filled.” 
Think  of  the  vast  number  of  the  wretched,  houseless, 
trouble-burdened  needy  of  our  world,  to  whom  this 
blessed  invitation  still  is  made,  and  who  will  not 
refuse  to  come  at  the  call  of  the  Lord — ready  and 
eager  to  exchange  hunger  for  plenty,  the  frowns  of 
men  for  the  smiles  of  Christ,  human  neglect  for 

4' 

divine  attention,  scorn  for  honor,  rags  for  comely 
garments,  and  a  paltry  pittance  doled  out  by  the 
reluctant  hand  of  charity  for  a  free  and  welcome 
hospitality.  There  must  be  room  in  the  grand  edi¬ 
fice  for  all  these ;  and  though  the  servants  have  done 
as  their  Lord  commanded,  and  have  continued  to  do 
so  since,  and  the  poor  invited  guests  *  have  come 
thronging  at  the  Master’s  urgency,  the  house  and 
table  are  not  full.  But  yet  there  is  room.  Spacious, 
indeed,  must  the  inclosure  be  that  shall  contain  them 
all.  But  the  invitation  is  not  withdrawn,  nor  have 


THE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH.  183 


any  wlio  applied  been  refused  admission,  or  sent 
unsatisfied  away.  They  enter  still  from  the  lanes 
and  by-places — the  blind,  the  way-worn,  the  mise¬ 
rable,  come  and  find  accommodation.  And  so  they 
will  find  it  till  the  time  comes  when  the  feet  of 
Christ’s  servants  shall  no  more  appear  beautiful  upon 
the  mountains,  as  they  come  publishing  salvation, 
preaching  good  tidings  of  good. 

Happy  for  the  world  that  the  Sovereign  Messiah 
is  the  builder  of  the  Church !  His  power  and  love 
guarantee  the  spaciousness  of  the  building  to  be  fully 
adequate  to  all  the  demands  for  accommodation 
made  upon  it,  and  assure  each  trembling  applicant 
that  the  door  shall  not  be  shut  against  him,  but  that 
he  shall  find  ready  access,  ample  room,  and  a  hearty 
welcome. 

4.  The  enduring  strength  of  the  building.  This 
also  is  a  necessary  part  of  it.  Beauty  is  not  always 
found  conjoined  to  strength,  and  great  extension  is 
sometimes  incompatible  with  solidity,  in  structures 
reared  by  human  hands.  But  in  Christ’s  building, 
— the  Church — proportion,  beauty,  extension,  and 
strength  go  hand  in  hand  together,  illustrate  each 
other,  and  give  finish  and  majesty  to  the  whole. 

The  materials  that  enter  into  it  render  it  strong. 
For  though  there  are  many  varieties  of  stone, 


184  THE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH. 

taken  from  all  nations  and  peoples,  yet  each  indi¬ 
vidual  has  received  its  shaping  and  polishing  from 
the  same  hand,  is  a  tried  and  approved  stone,  and 
well  adapted  to  the  place  and  purpose  assigned  it, 
and  without  weakening  the  work  by  connexion  with 
others,  giving,  by  variety,  a  more  striking  beauty  to 
the  whole.  Something  like,  if  I  may  use  such  a 
comparison,  those  various  stones  and  blocks  of  mar¬ 
ble  presented  by  different, States  and  Associations  for 
the  great  National  Monument,  each  varying  from  the 
other,  bearing  its  own  mark  and  inscription,  but  all 
prepared  and  adapted,  and  accepted  for  the  use 
designed,  and,  without  detracting  from  the  strength 
at  all,  adding  to  the  picturesqueness,  beauty,  and 
effect  of  the  fabric.  The  component  elements  that 
go  to  form  the  Church  are,  moreover,  cemented  with 
blood,  more  precious  far  than  that  which  drenched 
the  altars  of  Jewish  sacrifice,  so  that  no  powers  on 
earth  or  in  hell  can  start  them  out  of  their  place. 
And  besides  all,  the  piercing  eye  of  Him  whose 
hand  reared,  is  ever  fixed  on  His  prized  building,  the 
Church,  so  that  no  fragment  can  be  broken  off  with¬ 
out  detection,  and  no  lurking  danger  can  be  near 
without  discovery ;  and  because  of  the  sleepless  vigi¬ 
lance  and  tremendous  power  that  guard  it,  no  tongue 
that  shall  rise  against  it  in  judgment  shall  prevail, 


THE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH.  185 


and  no  weapon  that  is  formed  against  it  can  prosper. 
Bnt  this  will  lead  me  more  particularly  to  notice — 

III.  Its  Security. 

The  gates  of  hell  shall  not  prevail  against  it. 
Without  going  into  any  disquisition  upon  the  critical 
meaning  of  this  phrase,  which  is  also  variously  inter¬ 
preted,  I  shall  take  the  signification  to  be  that  which 
it  hears  upon  its  face,  which  is  usually  attached  to  it, 
and  which  is  most  accordant  with  the  spirit  of  the 
whole  passage.  I  understand  it  to  refer  to  the  stabi¬ 
lity  of  the  church,  founded  as  it  is  upon  a  Rock,  and 
built  as  it  is  by  the  great  Head  and  Ruler  of  it — and 
that  its  security  is  pledged  omnipotently  against  all 
assaults  and  foes  whatever,  until  its  glorious  mission 
shall  have  been  accomplished. 

1.  It  is  secure  against  the  force  of  change  and 
nature.  The  fashion  of  this  world  passeth  away. 
All  things  around  us  are  full  of  fluctuation  and 
decay.  In  nature  the  grass  withereth,  the  flower 
fadeth.  The  green  foliage  of  the  spring  gives  place 
to  the  sere  and  yellow  leaves  of  autumn;  and  the 
trees,  adorned  with  beautiful  garments,  are  disrobed 
and  stretch  forth  their  naked  arms  toward  heaven. 
These  natural  changes,  however,  go  on  in  an  unvaried 
round,  the  decay  and  death  of  autumn  forerunning 
the  renewed  freshness  and  blooming  resurrection  of 


186  THE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH. 

the  following  spring.  Hot  so  with  man.  Infancy, 
childhood,  mature  years,  and  old  age,  quickly  succeed 
each  other ;  and  then  comes  the  gathering  of  man  and 
of  generations  to  their  fathers.  Age  follows  age ; 
cycle,  cycle.  A  nation  rises  up,  becomes  mighty,  and 
then  passes  away.  Another  takes  its  place,  and  oc¬ 
cupies  large  room  in  the  world’s  eye,  to  have  in  turn 
its  period  of  decadence  and  downfall,  and  make  way 
for  its  successors.  And  all  this  while,  mankind  bus¬ 
tle,  struggle,  plot,  groan,  weep,  rejoice,  and  play  their 
little  fantastic  parts,  with  more  or  less  of  renown  or 
infamy,  and  then  retire  from  the  stage ;  while 
rumors  of  wars  are  heard,  and  stern  collisions  be¬ 
tween  rival  nations  take  place,  and  fierce  conflicts  of 
opinion  agitate  and  work  commotion,  and  revolutions 
and  convulsions  upheave  society  from  its  foundations, 
changing  the  face  of  empires  sometimes  in  a  day. 

Yet  amid  all  this  concussion  and  tossing  to  and 
fro  of  the  angry  billows  of  human  passions,  the 
ark  of  the  Lord  is  safe.  Truth  is  imperishable, 
and  the  Church  is  time,  and  Christ  is  in  the  Church. 
Ho  change  in  the  physical  system  can  make  it  decay, 
no  revolutions  in  nations  can  move  it  from  its  fast 
foundations.  It  is  fixed  in  the  Lock — it  is  moored  to 
the  eternal  throne.  Heaven  and  earth  may  pass 
away,  but  my  word,  saith  the  Lord,  shall  not  pass 


THE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH.  187 


away.  And  tliat  word  declares  and  repeats,  with 
iterated  emphasis,  that  Messiah  shall  see  of  the 
travail  of  Ills  soul,  and  shall  be  satisfied — that  the 
heathen  shall  he  His  inheritance — that  His  foes  shall 
be  His  footstool — that  His  Church  shall  live  and  His 
truth  triumph.  And  accordingly,  like  the  bush  all 
on  fire  but  not  consumed,  it  has  survived  all  the 
tumults,  animosities,  dire  and  deadly  ragings,  and 
conflicts  which  have  been  all  around  it,  and  which 
have  set  their  mask  deeply  upon,  and  spread  desola¬ 
tion  over,  everything  besides.  But  this  conducts  to 
the  remark  that 

2.  The  Church  is  secure  against  the  •  wrath  and 
malice  of  man. 

If  man’s  frenzied  rage  could  have  prevailed 
against  it,  it  would  long  since  have  been  destroyed, 
for  no  method  or  means  that  human  ingenuity  could 
devise,  or  malignity  stimulate,  or  the  utmost  tension 
of  mortal  power  marshal  against  it,  have  been  left 
untried.  Has  not  the  Moloch  of  persecution  in 
various  ages  raised  its  blood-stained  banner,  and  led 
on  its  slaughter-breathing  hosts  against  it  ?  Has  not 
the  blood  of  God’s  martyrs  been  spilled  like  water 
over  the  face  of  the  earth,  for  no  other  crime  than 
loyalty  to  Christ,  and  cried  out  from  the  drenched 
and  drugken  soil  against  the  fury  of  the  oppressor? 


188  THE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH. 

Have  not  the  saints  had  trial  of  sconrgings  and  tor¬ 
tures,  of  bonds  and  imprisonments,  been  stoned  and 
sawn  asunder,  tempted  and  slain  with  the  sword, 
been  forced  to  wander  in  sheepskins  and  goatskins, 
being  destitute,  afflicted,  tormented  ?  Has  not  a 
subtle  infidelity  exhausted  its  quivers  of  poisoned 
arrows  in  every  age,  to  pierce  it  to  the  death — • 
labored  by  every  foul  art  and  expedient  to  scatter  its 
adherents  to  the  wfinds,  undermine  their  integrity, 
and  make  faith  in  Christ  the  badge  of  infamy  or  of 
an  imbecile  mind  ?  Has  not  the  false  prophet  mar¬ 
shalled  his  intolerant  legions  against  it,  and  sought 
by  the  fury  of  a  flood,  by  brute  force,  the  sword  and 
fire,  to  extirpate  it,  leaving  no  trace  of  its  existence 
behind?  Have  not  error,  and  corruption,  and  irre- 
ligion,  and  a  blighting  philosophy,  combined  with 
every  sort  of  “  deceivableness  of  unrighteousness,” 
sought  to  compass  the  final  overthrow  of  the  rock- 
founded  and  Christ-guarded  fabric  ?  And  have  they 
not  all  been  foiled,  discomfited,  rolled  back,  leaving 
the  object  of  their  attack  unharmed,  having  the 
principles  of  life,  activity,  and  expansion  within  it 
still  ?  This  is  wonderful,  my  brethren,  passing 
wonderful ;  the  safety  of  the  Church  maintained 
against  assaults  so  frequent,  so  ferocious,  so  often 
varied,  so  subtle  and  long-continued.  It  is  a  standing 


THE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH.  189 


moral  miracle,  invoking  the  astonishment  of  every 
beholder,  and  the  tearful  gratitude  of  every  saint. 
“  O,  our  Redeemer,  we  see  thy  wondrous  love,  the 
might  of  thy  arm,  the  wisdom  of  thy  counsels,  the 
truth  of  thy  pledged  word,  in  this  great  and  signal 
preservation.  We  adore  and  praise  thee  while  we 
wonder  and  rejoice.  Write,  Lord,  we  humbly  pray, 
our  names  upon  the  palms  of  thy  hands,  that  when 
our  brief  course  is  run,  and  the  fight  fought  in  the 
Church  militant  below,  we  may  rise  and  glorify  thee 
among  the  members  of  the  Church  triumphant  in 
heaven.” 

3.  The  Church  is  secure,  I  again  remark,  against 
the  arts  and  fury  of  the  infernal  world. 

Satan  is  the  adversary  of  the  Church,  and  must 
needs  continue  such,  for  the  Church  aims  to  cripple 
his  power,  overturn  his  empire,  rescue  souls  from  his 
ignoble  dominion,  and  raise  them  from  the  degra¬ 
dation  of  being  children  of  the  Devil  to  the  dignity 
of  being  sons  of  God.  Satan  is  the  enemy  of  the 
Church,  because  the  enemy,  bitter  and  implacable, 
of  its  Head,  the  enemy  of  truth  and  righteousness, 
and  of  everything  that  tends  to  make  men  wiser, 
holier,  happier.  And  he  is  an  enemy  whose  might 
and  resources  are  greatly  formidable.  Whatever  he 
possesses  of  craft  and  energy  is  enlisted  in  the  war- 


190  THE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH. 

fare  waged  by  him  against  Christ  and  his  Bride. 
Every  fallen  spirit  that  owns  his  mastership  is  made 
an  agent  to  execute  his  fierce  desire  to  wound  the 
peace  and  mar  the  beauty  of  Zion.  The  wTorld,  with 
its  pomp  and  show,  its  glory  and  honors,  its  flatteries 
and  deceits,  its  pleasures  and  vanities,  is  an  ally  con¬ 
stantly  employed  by  him,  to  advance  his  designs, 
and  aid  him  in  effecting  by  insidious  arts  what  can¬ 
not  be  effected  by  open  assault ;  while  the  heart  of 
man,  keenly  susceptible  to  impressions  from  without, 
and  having  a  volcano  of  lusts  slumbering  within,  is 
the  great  citadel  against  which  every  attack  is  waged, 
and  is  prone  to  yield  to  the  dexterous  onslaughts  made 
upon  it  with  unceasing  vigor  and  skill. 

The  Church  is  composed  of  its  members,  and 
each  member,  with  the  same  nature,  sustains  the 
same  relation  to  external  things.  When,  therefore, 
Satan  prevails  against  the  members  by  his  seductions, 
he  prevails  to  that  extent  against  the  Church,  and 
with  his  restless  zeal,  and  fell  determination,  and 
wide  resources,  and  the  native  weakness  of  the 
human  heart  to  resist,  we  can  scarce  forbear  wonder 
that  he  has  not  prevailed  in  every  case,  and 
enticed  away  from  the  faith,  and  ruined  beyond  re¬ 
covery,  the  sacramental  host  of  the  Lord.  God’s 
grace  in  Christ,  given  largely,  as  pledged,  to  believ- 


THE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH.  191 


ers,  lias  prevented  their  hopeless  fall,  enabling  them 
to  resist  unto  blood,  to  stand  fast  in  their  allegiance 
in  spite  of  all  dishonoring  solicitations,  and  overcome 
each  most  easily  besetting  sin,  in  the  name  and 
strength  of  their  ascended  Lord. 

Tims  the  Church  lias  been  preserved  by  grace 
given  to  its  members,  and  this  grace  has  flowed 
down  from  Christ  the  Fountain.  He  overcame,  and 
His  people  through  him  overcome.  He  vanquished 
Satan,  not  only  in  the  wilderness,  but  in  the  garden 
and  on  the  cross;  and  seeing  him  fall  like  lightning 
from  heaven,  announced  to  His  disciples,  that  he  was 
thenceforth  a  conquered  foe,  and  would  be  impotent 
to  ruin  His  heritage  or  harm  His  chosen.  And  the 
declaration  has  been  verified.  All  his  malice  and 
machinations  have  been  baffled.  The  Church  has 
bidden  defiance  to  his  power — has  gone  forward  in 
her  progress  to  victory,  led  and  guarded  by  her  Lord, 
and  will  yet  go  on  conquering  and  to  conquer,  till  the 
kingdoms  of  the  world  shall  have  become  the  king¬ 
doms  of  J ehovah  and  of  His  Christ. 

You  see,  then,  Christian  friends  and  brethren,  in 
the  light  of  these  considerations,  how  it  is  that  the 
bush  burning  has  not  been  consumed,  how  the  ark 
of  our  hopes,  rocked  to  and  fro  by  the  swelling  and 
rolling  waters,  dashed  against  by  the  descending 


192  THE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH. 

floods,  with  tumult,  agitation,  and  dismay  all  around, 
has  floated  securely  upon  the  bosom  of  the  chafing 
billows,  and  as  they  have  subsided  at  the  voice  that 
made  them  rage,  has  found  ever  an  Ararat  to  rest 
upon,  sending  forth  from  it  hope  and  consolation  to 
the  world.  You  see  what  God’s  hand  hath  wrought 
— how  tender  his  mercy,  how  wakeful  ever  his 
vigilance,  and  potential  his  guardianship — how  abid¬ 
ing  his  faithfulness,  how  sacred  the  pledges  of  his 
covenant.  The  Church,  encircled  by  his  arm,  has  not 
only  stood  fast  but  made  progress,  not  only  remained 
firm  and  on  the  defensive  against  the  onsets  of  its 
foes,  but  been  actively  aggressive,  following  on  the 
track  of  her  routed  assailants,  and  carrying  the  warfare 
into  the  enemy’s  country.  The  missionary  spirit  of 
the  apostolic  age,  smothered  at  times  to  appearance, 
has  been  kindled  afresh  at  the  altar  of  Him  who  still 
commands,  “  Go  ye  into  all  the  world  and  preach  the 
Gospel  to  every  creature.”  Obedience  to  this  man¬ 
date  has  unfurled  the  banner  of  the  cross,  before  the 
eyes  of  rude,  blinded,  and  pagan  peoples,  and  planted 
churches  into  which  weeping  penitents  have  been 
gathered  out  of  the  throngs  of  the  idolatrous,  to  the 
glory  of  God’s  grace.  This  broad  continent,  which  a 
few  centuries  ago  was  covered  with  the  pall  of  Pa¬ 
ganism,  is  now  redeemed  from  the  curse  of  idol- 


THE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH.  193 


worship  and  superstition,  and  the  Church  rooted  here 
in  weakness  lias  sprung  up  into  strength,  the  mustard- 
seed  has  expanded  into  the  tree,  the  little  leaven 
has  leavened  a  whole  mass.  The  lines  are  now  fallen 
to  us  in  pleasant  places,  and  we  have  a  goodly  heri¬ 
tage.  We  may  worship  the  true  divinity  as  our 
instructed  convictions  of  duty  prompt,  and  none 
dare  molest  us,  when  we  come  up  to  how  before  and 
praise  Him,  as  we  have  done  this  day.  The  vine  of 
His  own  planting  has  taken  deep  root  and  put  forth 
countless  branches,  bearing  fruit,  and  these  are  in¬ 
creased  continually  by  others,  as  the  dews  and  rains 
of  divine  grace  fall  from  heaven,  fertilizing  the  soil, 
cheering  the  vine,  infusing  fresh  vigor  into  it,  and 
encouraging  it  to  break  forth  on  every  side  and  fill 
the  land. 

A  new  offshoot  from  this  true  vine  greets  our  eyes 
to-day,  and  we  are  here  to  commend  it  to  the  care 
of  the  good  Husbandman,  and  invoke  in  its  behalf 
the  fostering  influences  of  His  protection  and  love. 
There  are  few  spectacles  indeed  more  interesting  and 
impressive  than  the  setting  apart  solemnly  a  Chris¬ 
tian  temple  reared  for  the  worship  and  to  the  honor 
of  the  Lord  Jehovah,  The  object  is  one  of  the 
worthiest,  I  may  say  grandest,  that  can  occupy  the 
mind  or  fill  the  heart  of  the  congregation  it  calls 

9 


194  THE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH. 

together.  The  edifice  reared  is  not  for  secular  pur¬ 
poses,  not  to  compass  any  worldly  or  ambitious 
project,  not  to  aid  in  carrying  out  selfish  schemes  of 
temporal  aggrandizement,  or  the  amassing  of  wealth, 
or  the  strengthening  of  mortal  influence ;  but  the 
end  is  to  glorify  God  by  furnishing  wider  facilities 
for  the  proclamation  of  a  free  Gospel,  in  the  opening 
of  a  sanctuary  where  the  means  of  worshipping  him 
publicly  and  statedly  may  he  enjoyed — where  the 
humble  poor  and  the  stately  rich  man,  the  lowly 
obscure  and  the  person  of  mark  and  position,  may 
equally  appear  before  God,  who  is  no  respecter  of 
persons,  and  sing  those  praises  which  God  loves  to 
hear  when  the  heart  makes  melody,  and  offer  those 
supplications  which  all  men  have  need  to  pay,  and 
implore  that  mercy  without  which  every  man  is  un¬ 
done,  and  hear  from  the  lips  of  the  preacher  that 
blessed  word  expounded  and  enforced  which  points 
to  heaven  and  instructs  in  every  duty. 

This  is  the  true  end  for  which  the  house  of  wor¬ 
ship  is  reared,  and  the  office  to  which  it  is  dedicated. 
It  is  a  house  which,  as  we  look  upon  it,  reminds  us 
of  a  brighter  and  better  world — speaks  of  the  destiny 
of  man  as  bound  to  the  judgment-seat  of  Christ — 
points  to  the  vanities  of  this  passing  state,  as  too  un¬ 
worthy  to  occupy  much  that  mind  which  should  be 
filled  with  immortal  aspirations — preaches  with  still 


THE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH.  195 


small  voice  indeed,  but  persuasively,  tlie  marvellous 
condescension  of  Him  “  who  though  He  was  rich,  yet 
for  our  sakes  became  poor,  that  we  through  His 
poverty  might  be  rich,”  and  sets  forth  the  claims  of 
that  religion  which  His  own  voice  announced  with 
authority  and  His  own  spotless  life  illustrated. 

In  short,  this  house,  as  you  look  upon  it  and  enter 
it,  seems  the  Jacob’s  ladder  connecting  earth  with 
heaven,  on  which  the  eye  of  faith  may  see  bright 
angels  ascending  and  descending — the  latter  bringing 
down  to  rebels  the  divinely  free  offer  of  pardon  ;  the 
former  bearing  up  the  report  of  its  acceptance  or 
rejection.  It  seems  to  stand  on  the  boundary  be¬ 
tween  this  world  and  the  next.  The  rays  of  the 
heavenly  glory,  issuing  through  the  gates  of  paradise, 
reach  it  and  play  upon  it;  while  the  feet  of  poor 
wanderers,  soiled  through  contact  with  this  defiling 
earth,  pass  its  threshold,  where  the  languid  and 
wayworn  sit  and  are  cheered  with  the  voice,  “  Come 

unto  me,  ye  laboring  and  heavy  laden  ones,  and  ye 

« 

shall  find  rest  for  your  souls.”  Here  the  voice  of  angry 
passion  is  hushed,  and  all  the  clamors,  strifes,  and 
acerbities  which  separate  man  from  man,  and  proclaim 
the  bitterness  of  the  curse,  subside  in  the  awful 
presence  of  Him  to  whom  vengeance  belongetli. 
Here  all  artificial  distinctions  which  divide  men  into 
high  and  low,  rich  and  poor,  honorable  and  base, 


196  THE  FOUNDATION  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH. 

vanish  before  the  oracle,  “  To  this  man  will  I  look, 
even  to  him  that  is  poor  and  of  a  contrite  spirit,  and 
trembletli  at  my  word.”  Here  the  character,  temper, 
and  disposition  of  the  soul  is  the  chief  recommen¬ 
dation,  and  every  one  that  brings  the  sacrifice 
that  God  requires  will  find  his  gracious  benediction. 

This,  therefore,  is  God’s  house,  reared  for  Him,  and 
to  be  dedicated  to  Him.  And  in  the  light  of  these 
sacred  and  tender  associations,  when  an  assembly 
meet  to  consummate  the  act  which  sets  it  apart  for 
ever  to  these  high  purposes,  the  spectacle  is  beautiful 
and  imposing.  We  stand  as  it  were  with  one  foot 
on  the  earth,  and  the  other  on  the  threshold  of  heaven. 
We  are  beneath  God’s  eye.  Holy  angels  are  around 
us.  The  glory  of  the  Lord  is  in  this  place.  What 
we  do  is  pregnant  with  momentous  and  lasting  con¬ 
sequences.  The  act  is  to  be  recorded  on  high,  and 
we  shall  meet  the  record  and  the  sentiments  which 
prompt  and  characterize  it,  on  that  great  day  when 
the  sea  and  death  and  hell  shall  deliver  up  their  dead, 
and  “ every  man  shall  be  judged  according  to  that 
which  he  hath  done,  whether  it  be  good  or  bad.”  * 

*  The  Service  for  the  Dedication,  as  partaking  the  nature  of  a 
formula,  and  containing  what,  in  part  at  least,  is  usual  on  similar 
occasions,  it  is  not  thought  material  to  insert.  Though  the  dis¬ 
course  closes  abruptly,  the  coherence  and  unity  of  the  argument  are 
not  impaired. 


ENGLISH  DICTION  A  MEANS  OF  PULPIT 
EFFICIENCY. 


Taking-  up  one  of  the  back  numbers  of  the  Prince¬ 
ton  Peview  tlie  other  day,  my  attention  was  arrested 
by  a  sprightly  article  bearing  part  of  the  above 
title.  The  ground  taken  by  the  writer  in  it  is,  that 
the  Presbyterian  ministry — and  the  remark  may 
hold  good  in  respect  to  those  of  our  own  Church — 
though  thoroughly  educated,  and  possessed  of  an 
aggregate  of  talent  at  least  equal  to  that  of  any 
ecclesiastical  body  in  the  land,  are  yet  surpassed  by 
some  others,  having  a  less  carefully  trained  ministry, 
in  the  effect  with  which  their  ministrations  tell  upon 
the  people.  He  quotes  a  passage  from  the  Edin¬ 
burgh  Witness ,  relating  to  the  then  recent  discussion 
in  the  United  Presbyterian  Synod  of  Scotland,  and 
in  the  General  Assembly  of  the  Presbyterian  Church 
in  the  United  States,  of  the  practice  of  reading  ser¬ 
mons,  as  a  probable  cause  of  crippling  the  power  of 
pulpit  discourse,  and  infers  that  the  very  agitation  of 
the  question  proves  that  there  is  something  wrong,  for 


198 


ENGLISH  DICTION 


people  are  not  apt  to  liave  recourse  to  medicine  with¬ 
out  feeling  themselves  unwell.  The  reviewer,  how¬ 
ever,  regards  the  medicine  proposed  by  these  venerable 
bodies  as  not  at  all  adapted  to  the  disease  ;  indicating, 
in  fact,  if  applied  by  synodical  prescription,  a  sad 
ignorance  of  the  diagnosis  of  the  case.  ITe  scouts 
the  idea  that  the  disuse  of  written  sermons  would 
restore  or  give  to  the  ministry  the  efficiency  they  are 
said  to  lack,  and  brings  forward  a  remedy  of  his 
own,  which  he  thinks  might  compass  the  end  in 
view,  and  which  in  few  words  may  be  thus  de¬ 
scribed  : 

The  ministry  often  fail  in  their  addresses  to  the 
people,  because  they  use  a  language  which  the  peo¬ 
ple  do  not  clearly  understand.  Their  studies  have 
made  them  familiar  with  a  vocabulary  removed 
from  the  range  of  ordinary  conversation,  and  con¬ 
taining  many  words  which  convey  to  a  plain  hearer 
no  distinct  idea.  The  racy  idiomatic  Saxon  of  our 
language,  in  which  people  talk  and  express  their 
earnest  sentiments,  is  displaced  by  a  bastard  mongrel 
dialect,  very  intelligible  no  doubt  to  those  who  teach, 
but  very  mysterious  to  the  bone  and  sinew  of  their 
hearers.  Instead  of  using  words  which  everybody 
understands,  they  use  those  whose  meaning  is  clear 
to  the  initiated  alone.  They  wonder,  perhaps,  that 


A  MEANS  OF  PULFIT  EFFICIENCY. 


199 


their  labored  and  finished  discourses  are  listened  to 
with  apathy,  and  give  no  sign  of  an  impression  made 
or  an  interest  awakened.  The  truth  is,  they  have 
not  been  understood ;  and  he  who  speaks  in  an  “  un¬ 
known  tongue5’  to  the  people,  expecting  to  persuade, 
arouse,  or  melt  them  thereby,  would  do  well  to 
remember  that  the  thing  is  impossible,  unless  a  repe¬ 
tition  of  the  Pentecostal  miracle  should  liken  his 
hearers  to  the  Parthians,  Medes,  Cretes,  and  Ara¬ 
bians,  who  heard  with  astonishment  the  gospel 
preached  at  Jerusalem. 

This  theory  is  plausible,  and  a  good  deal  more. 
It  is  certain  that  many  an  ingenious  and  learned  dis¬ 
course  is  shorn  of  its  power  to  convince  or  edify 
because  people  fail  to  comprehend  it.  Much  of  the 
inefficiency  of  pulpit  discourse  is,  no  doubt,  traceable 
to  this  source.  We  believe,  that  in  regard  to  many 
a  sermon  looked  upon  by  its  partial  author  as  pointed, 
pungent,  and  plain  enough  too,  if  Philip’s  question 
to  the  eunuch  were  put  with  a  slight  variation  to 
many  individuals  of  the  audience,  “  Pnderstandest 
thou  what  thou  hearest  f  ”  the  honest  reply  must  be, 
“  How  can  we,  except  some  man  guide  us  ?”  The 
interpreter  of  Scripture  must  have  an  assistant  inter¬ 
preter  at  his  elbow  before  his  meaning  can  be  plain. 
Such  an  expedient  might  do  good,  especially  in  the 


200 


ENGLISH  DICTION 


case  of  those  Coleridgean  treatises  sometimes  put 
forth  for  gospel  at  the  present  day,  whose  meta¬ 
physics  are  of  a  character  so  intensely  subtle  as  to 
leave  speaker  and  hearer  equally  befogged. 

Nor  would  this  expedient,  if  resorted  to,  be  alto¬ 
gether  startling  from  its  novelty.  Mar  Yohannan 
discoursed  very  plain  and  passable  Anglo-Saxon  to 
his  hearers,  through  the  lips  of  Dr.  Perkins.  And 
other  unknown  tongues  have  been  rendered  intelli¬ 
gible  through  similar  channels.  Why  might  not 
those  discourses,  which  the  vacant  look  and  half- 
closed  eyes  of  an  audience  plainly  declare  transcen¬ 
dental. ,  be  rendered  on  the  spot  into  the  English  of 
the  people?  Tire  object  of  discourse  is  avowedly 
their  edification  and  profit.  Why  should  not  this 
object  be  certainly  attained,  even  at  the  risk  of  a 
little  contortion  of  the  muscles  of  an  audience  ?  If 
men  cannot  hear  without  a  preacher,  it  is  equally 
clear  that  men  cannot  be  instructed,  if  the  preacher 
clothes  his  message  in  words  too  high  for  their  capa¬ 
city.  Where  the  interpreter  of  Scripture  needs  him¬ 
self  to  be  interpreted,  whatever  other  things  may 
come  from  the  “  hearing”  of  his  words,  “  faith”  will 
hardly  be  among  the  number. 

Dr.  Johnson  had  two  modes  of  conveying  his 
thoughts — the  natural  and  the  artificial.  The  one 


A  MEANS  OF  PULPIT  EFFICIENCY. 


201 


was  employed  in  conversation,  and  when  he  wrote  at 
his  ease  and  to  his  friends ;  the  other  adapted  for  the 
public  eye.  To  nse  the  words  of  an  eminent  reviewer, 
“  When  he  wrote  for  publication,  he  did  his  sentences 
out  of  English  into  Johnsonese.  Ilis  letters  from 
the  Hebrides  to  Mrs.  Thrale  are  the  original  of  that 
work  of  which  the  Journey  to  the  Hebrides  is  the 
,  translation.  Sometimes  Johnson  translated  aloud. 
‘The  Rehearsal,’  he  said,  ‘has  not  wit  enough  to 
keep  it  sweet ;  ’  then  added,  after  a  pause,  ‘  It  has 
not  vitality  enough  to  preserve  it  from  putrefaction.’  ” 
The  strength  of  the  former  version  as  compared  with 
the  latter  is  obvious  enough,  and  yet  the  famous  lexi¬ 
cographer  was  perpetually  committing  the  fault  of 
preferring  the  sonorous  to  the  natural,  and  words 
drawn  from  the  Latin  or  Greek  to  those  nervous  and 
sinewy  Anglo-Saxon  terms,  whose  meaning,  often  in 
the  very  utterance  and  sound,  strikes  the  mind  of  the 
hearer  with  the  force  of  a  shock.  How  immeasurably 
his  style  is  depraved  and  his  energy  weakened  by 
this  strange  choice,  has  been  commonly  remarked. 
Robert  Hall,  who  confesses  that  at  one  period  of  his 
ministry  he  was  a  zealous  follower  of  Johnson  in  the 
matter  of  style,  and  rejoices  that  in  maturer  years  he 
had  succeeded  in  breaking  loose  from  the  trammels 
of  his  early  and  fond  admiration,  furnishes  eyidence 

9* 


202 


ENGLISH  DICTION 


throughout  his  works  that  the  victory  he  prided  him¬ 
self  on  was  never  perfectly  achieved.  In  his  great 
sermon  on  Modern  Infidelity,  the  copy  of  which  was 
laboriously  doled  out  to  the  printer  page  by  page, 
and  at  slow  intervals,  the  sentence  ending  with, 
“  What  are  those  enterprises  of  guilt  and  horror  that, 
for  the  safety  of  their  performers,  require  to  be  en¬ 
veloped  in  a  darkness  which  the  eye  of  Heaven 
must  not  penetrate”  was  altered  by  the  substitution 
of  pierce  for  penetrate ;  the  author  remarking,  as  he 
directed  the  alteration,  that  “  no  man  who  considered 
thefeyrce  of  the  English  language  would  use  a  word 
of  three  syllables  there  but  from  absolute  necessity.” 
It  would  require  no  curious  research  to  detect  in  his 
really  vigorous,  though  somewhat  too  stately  lan¬ 
guage,  many  words  and  even  sentences  which  might 
by  substitution  and  change  be  equally  improved. 
W e  have  little  doubt  that  a  more  natural  and  simple 
flow  of  his  thoughts  had  rendered  his  ministrations 
far  more  edifying  and  efficient  with  the  bulk  of  his 
hearers.  Indeed,  it  is  expressly  stated  by  a  writer 
who  knew  him  well,  that  the  plainer  sort  of  his  hear¬ 
ers,  composing  the  majority  of  most  congregations, 
seemed  to  listen  to  him  without  clearly  apprehending 
the  scope  or  appreciating  the  influence  or  strength 
of  his  thoughts,  and  that  only  towards  the  close,  as 


A  MEANS  OF  PULPIT  EFFICIENCY. 


203 


in  liis  earnestness  to  impress,  lie  threw  aside  tlie 
measured  and  elaborate  construction  of  liis  sentences, 
and  clothed  his  thoughts  in  words  of  transparent 
simplicity,  the  hearts  of  the  audience  warmed  and 
throbbed  to  the  accents  of  the  Christian  orator. 

In  reading  his  works,  we  discern  and  feel  the  same 
lack  of  simplicity.  Much  as  we  admire  his  intellect, 
the  vigor  of  liis  thoughts,  his  mastery  of  language, 
the  propriety  and  strength  of  his  analysis,  his  evi¬ 
dent  capacity  to  grapple  successfully  with  deep  sub¬ 
jects,  we  must  confess  to  having  read  many  sermons 
and  treatises  which,  with  less  thought  and  force,  were 
less  wearisome  in  perusal  than  those  which  he  has  fur¬ 
nished  us  withal.  The  words  are  fitly  chosen  and  the 
idea  not  darkly  expressed,  but  excess  of  elaboration 
has  wrought  a  stately  monotony,  which  seldom  fails  to 
be  irksome  to  the  reader.  In  speaking,  simplicity  is 
still  more  important.  The  hearer,  unlike  the  reader, 
cannot  pause  upon  the  expressions  and  study  out  the 
meaning  of  an  ambiguous  term  or  an  involved 
sentence,  but,  borne  along  by  the  current  of  words, 
if  he  fail  to  apprehend  instantly,  there  is  no  remedy. 
And  where  a  goodly  number  of  words  occur  “  too 
high”  for  the  bulk  of  a  congregation,  though  the 
sermon  containing  them  is  ingenious,  profound,  well 
conducted,  and  all  that,  the  element  of  persuasive 


204 


ENGLISH  DICTION 


power  must  be  looked  for  in  vain.  The  orator’s 
blows,  manful  tbougb  tliey  be,  instead  of  striking 
home,  are  but  the  barren  beating  of  the  air. 

And  what  is  thought  to  be  “  great  plainness  of 
speech,”  sometimes  is  really  far  from  being  such. 
Many  of  our  hearers  are  unscholarly  persons,  un¬ 
acquainted  not  only  with  the  technical  terms  of 
theology,  but  with  very  many  wrords  whose  meaning 
to  an  educated  mind  is  perfectly  transparent,  and,  as 
we  may  hastily  suppose,  can  hardly  be  misunder¬ 
stood  by  people  of  ordinary  intelligence.  And  yet, 
if  put  to  the  test,  it  would  be  found  that  the  idea 
received  was  extremely  vague,  or  amounted  in  fact 
to  no  idea  at  all,  or  one  very  far  removed  from  the 
true.  A  clergyman  in  England  being  about  to 
preach  for  one  of  his  brethren,  was  expressly  re¬ 
quested  to  use  the  utmost  plainness  of  language,  lest 
a  plain  people  should  fail  to  be  edified.  The  preacher 
agreed,  premising  that  he  always  made  himself  in¬ 
telligible  to  the  simplest  hearer.  On  asking  his 
friend  after  sermon  whether  he  had  succeeded,  he 
was  surprised  to  hear  him  answer  in  the  negative; 
and  inquiring  what  word  in  the  sermon  could  possi¬ 
bly  have  been  misunderstood,  was  told  that  the 
word  “  inference,”  several  times  used,  was  a  puzzler 
to  many.  As  a  proof,  he  called  in  his  man  John, 


A  MEANS  OF  PULPIT  EFFICIENCY. 


205 


wlio  had  listened  devoutly  to  the  discourse,  and 
abruptly  inquired,  u  John,  can  you  draw  an  infer¬ 
ence  ?”  “  Can’t  say,  sir,”  replied  John,  “  that  I  can 

draw  one,  but  I  have  a  yoke  of  oxen  in  the  field  that 
will  draw  anything  you  please  to  put  behind  them.” 
Honest  John’s  intelligence  perhaps  was  hardly  up  to 
the  average,  but  a  similar  test  instituted  in  many 
other  cases  where  the  preacher  fancies  himself  limpid 
as  a  brook,  might  produce  similar  results.  Dean 
Swift  is  said  to  have  read  his  sermon,  before  delivery, 
to  an  old  housekeeper,  and  if  any  word  or  sentence 
occurred  beyond  her  comprehension,  to  simplify  till 
the  idea  grew  palpable.  Perhaps  the  severe  sim¬ 
plicity  of  his  language  is  owing  to  some  such  process. 
The  fact  certainly  proclaims  a  sound  philosophy,  for 
the  humblest  need  to  understand  as  well  as  the 
highest ;  their  interests  are  as  precious ;  their  num¬ 
bers  are  greater;  their  worldly  comforts  are  fewer, 
and  religion  more  an  “all  in  all”  matter  to  them 
than  to  their  superiors  in  station.  They  are  entitled 
therefore  to  the  full  benefit  of  a  public  instruction 
which  they  can  fully  understand ;  and  to  restrict  the 
meaning  of  a  discourse,  through  an  ambitious  style 
or  swollen  verbiage,  to  the  more  enlightened,  is  to 
treat  the  rest  with  injustice,  and  bar  their  ap¬ 
proach  to  those  health-giving  waters  which  sweetly 


206 


ENGLISH  DICTION 


murmur,  as  tliey  flow,  joy  and  a  free  welcome  to 
all. 

'Nor  is  entire  simplicity  any  way  incompatible 
either  with  force  or  elegance.  Swift’s  style  is  simple 
and  forcible,  though  his  language  is  transparent. 
Addison  is  natural  and  simple,  and  though  intelli¬ 
gible  to  every  person  of  ordinary  understanding,  is 
not  the  less  elegant  on  that  account.  Tire  Pilgrim’s 
Progress  will  hardly  be  cited  as  a  specimen  of  ele¬ 
gant  composition,  yet  so  far  as  force,  the  effect  of 
employing  the  simplest  Anglo-Saxon  words  is  con¬ 
cerned,  it  is  not  surpassed  by  any  uninspired  book  in 
the  language.  A  modern  writer  thus  characterizes 
it,  nor  is  the  high  praise  unfitly  applied :  “  The  voca¬ 
bulary  is  the  vocabulary  of  the  common  people. 
There  is  not  an  expression,  if  we  except  a  few  tech¬ 
nical  terms  of  theology,  which  would  puzzle  the 
rudest  peasant.  We  have  observed  several  pages 
which  do  not  contain  a  single  word  of  more  than  two 
syllables.  Yet  no  writer  has  said  more  exactly  what 
he  meant  to  say.  For  magnificence,  for  pathos,  for 
vehement  exhortation,  for  every  purpose  of  the  poet, 
the  orator,  and  the  divine,  this  homely  dialect,  the 
dialect  of  plain  working-men,  was  perfectly  suffi¬ 
cient.  There  is  no  book  in  our  literature  on  which 
we  could  so  readily  stake  the  fame  of  the  old  unpol- 


A  MEANS  OF  PULPIT  EFFICIENCY. 


207 


luted  English  language ;  no  book  which  shows  so 
wrell  how  rich  that  language  is  in  its  own  proper 
wealth,  and  how  httle  it  has  been  improved  by  ah 
that  it  has  borrowed  !” 

This  is  wTell  and  truly  said.  And  the  Bible  was  the 
book  from  which  John  Bunyan  formed  his  style  ; 
the  book  which  imbued  his  spirit,  colored  his  senti¬ 
ments,  and  varied  his  plain  working-day  language 
into  occasional  sublimity.  Let  our  pulpit  harangues 
have  less  elegance,  if  it  must  be  so,  but  more  of  the 
forceful  simplicity  of  the  greatest  of  models,  and 
their  increased  power  will  at  once  appear.  “  Plain 
working-men  ”  form  no  small  part  of  almost  every 
audience,  and,  what  is  more,  they  form  the  most 
devout  and  earnest  part,  intent  to  know  what  those 
things  are  which  the  religious  teacher  professes  to 
explain.  They  deserve  not  to  be  disappointed  in 
their  anxiety.  And  if  we  would  not  have  the  pulpit 
illustrate  in  fact  the  sarcastic  remark  of  Talleyrand, 
the  courtier  and  diplomatist,  that  “  language  was 
given  for  the  purpose  of  concealing  our  ideas,”  if  we 
would  edify  every  class  of  hearers,  strike  strong 
blows  upon  the  conscience,  and  win  souls  to  the 
cross,  the  language  used  in  discourse  before  the 
Church,  should  be  such  as  the  simplest  may  under¬ 
stand.  The  “  enticing  words  of  man’s  wisdom  ”  may 


208  ENGLISH  DICTION  A  MEANS  OF  PULPIT  EFFICIENCY. 


do  well  enough  for  the  world,  hut  seem  sadly  out  of 
place  in  the  pulpit.  The  “  ambassador  for  Christ  ” 
should  so  utter  his  message,  that  its  full  meaning  is 
lost  on  no  hearer  whom  he  beseeches  in  “  Christ’s 
stead  to  he  reconciled  to  God.” 


DISCOURSE  OCCASIONED  BY  THE  DEATH  OF 

HENRY  CLAY. 


(Delivered  July  4th,  1852.) 

Pascitur  in  vivis  livor,  post  facta  quiescit ; 

Tunc  buus,  ex  merito,  quemque  tuetur  honoe. — Ovid. 

“  Ilow  are  the  mighty  fallen.” — 2  Sametjl  i.  19. 

The  lament  of  David  over  Saul  and  Jonathan,  of 
which  this  brief  sentence  forms  a  part,  is  one  of  the 
most  tender  and  pathetic  that  human  lips  ever  uttered, 
or  that  the  page  of  written  book  ever  contained.  It 
occupies,  by  common  consent,  the  first  place  in  the 
catalogue  of  elegies.  Dignified,  simple,  mournful, 
and  overwhelming,  it  appeals  to  all  that  is  sympa¬ 
thetic  within  us,  and  demands  of  the  reader,  even  at 
this  distant  day,  and  notwithstanding  the  impairing 
effect  of  a  translation  into  a  language  which  must 
fail  to  give  the  full  spirit  and  force  of  the  original — • 
the  tribute  of  aroused  sensibility  and  tears.  If  the 
Bible  had  no  other  claim  to  the  attention  and  homage 
of  the  world,  it  well  deserves  to  receive  such  homage 


210 


DISCOURSE  OCCASIONED  BY 


on  account  of  its  high  and  incomparable  superiority 
to  all  other  books  ever  produced — its  superiority  in 
every  kind  of  composition  ^calculated  to  interest  the 
mind,  move  the  better  passions,  excite  admiration  and 
respect,  stimulate  to  deeds  of  honor  and  virtue,  and 
improve  the  heart. 

Saul  and  Jonathan  were  dead,  fallen  in  battle  with 
their  foes.  The  relation  which  David  had  sustained 
to  these  two  men  was  in  several  respects  dissimilar. 
Towards  Jonathan  the  warmest  and  most  devoted 
friendship  had  sprung  up,  and  had  become  stronger 
with  the  lapse  of  years.  It  was  not  mere  friendship 
which  he  felt  for  this  noble  and  heroic  young  man, 
but  love,  cemented  by  many  sore  trials,  to  which 
himself  had  been  subjected,  and  which  served  to 
keep  them  apart  from  each  other — and  cemented  by 
the  misfortunes,  too,  which  had  begun  to  fall  upon 
the  house  of  David,  in  which  Jonathan,  though 
innocent,  was  forced  to  participate.  Though  they 
seldom  were  permitted  to  rejoice  in  one  another’s 
society,  their  mutual  affection  remained  unabated, 
and  it  had  now  grown,  through  years  of  constancy 
and  faith,  into  so  firm  a  texture,  that  nothing  earthly 
could  dissolve  it.  It  feared  nothing  from  the  assaults 
of  coldness,  or  scorn,  or  misfortune,  or  distance,  or 
separation — for  it  had  been  weighed  in  all  these 


THE  DEATH  OF  HENRY  CLAY. 


211 


balances  and  never  found  wanting,  and  was  sure  of 
standing  steadfast  “  till  death  should  them  part.” 

Conceive,  then,  the  agony  which  the  intelligence  of 
the  death  of  this  more  than  brother  must  have  pro¬ 
duced.  What  pangs  it  shot  into  the  heart  of  the  sur¬ 
vivor  ;  what  anguish  too  great  for  language  to  speak 
adequately,  it  occasioned.  Is  it  wonderful  that  we  hear 
the  wrords  burst  from  him,  “  Oh,  Jonathan,  I  am  dis¬ 
tressed  for  thee,  my  brother  Jonathan;  very  pleasant 
hast  thou  been  unto  me  ;  thy  love  to  me  was  wonder¬ 
ful,  passing  the  love  of  women  ?  ”  There  is  nothing 
strange  that  a  friendship  so  unusual  and  ennobling 
should,  when  roughly  broken  off  by  death,  elicit  such 
intense  and  harrowing  grief. 

But  with  Saul  the  case  was  different.  He  had 
long  been  the  open  and  determined  enemy  of  David. 
He  was  at  first  envious  of  his  rising  greatness,  and 
of  the  evident  favor  with  which  the  people  regarded 
him ;  and  as  envy  is  closely  allied  to  hatred,  he 
soon  came  to  cherish  towards  David  this  darker  sen¬ 
timent,  and  to  hate  him  with  all  the  fierceness  of  a 
little  and  malignant  heart.  David’s  prowess  in  war, 
the  Divine  favor  which  manifestly  attended  him,  the 
humiliating  comparison  drawn  by  the  women  of 
Israel  as  they  sang,  “Saul  has  slain  his  thousands 
and  David  his  tens  of  thousands,”  fanned  the  flame  of 


212 


DISCOURSE  OCCASIONED  BY 


his  passions,  and  he  cursed  David,  and  cursed  Jona¬ 
than  for  the  steadfast  favor  shown  to  him  whom  he 
now  recognised  as  a  formidable  rival,  destined  at  no 
distant  da y  to  wear  the  crown  and  occupy  the  throne 
which  he  now  called  his  own.  And  in  his  rage  he 
hurled  his  javelin  at  the  stripling  harpist,  as  he 
sought  with  cunning  melodies  to  exorcise  the  evil 
demons  that  lacerated  his  royal  heart,  and  hurled  his 
javelin  at  another  time  at  his  own  son,  for  his  reso¬ 
lute  ardor  in  taking  his  rival’s  part ;  and  afterwards, 
when  David  fled  for  his  life,  cheered  on  his  servants 
to  join  with  him  in  hunting  the  hapless  fugitive, 
forcing  him  to  seek  asylum  among  a  strange  people, 
and  in  dens  and  caverns  of  the  earth. 

What  might  we  suppose  the  feelings  of  his  heart 
to  be,  at  hearing  of  the  death  of  such  an  enemy  and 
persecutor?  Would  we  think  David  most  likely  to 
feel  grief  or  joy — melancholy  or  lightness  of  heart? 
He  could  hardly  love  Saul — he  had  reason,  perhaps, 
to  feel  dislike  and  enmity  towards  him — and  at  his 
death  to  feel  that  a  burden  of  care  and  uneasiness 
was  removed.  What  was  the  fact  ?  He  experiences 
profound  sorrow  at  his  loss.  He  bewTails  Saul  as 
though  he  had  been  a  bosom  friend :  “  The  beauty 
of  Israel  is  slain  upon  thy  high  places — how  are  the 
mighty  fallen !  Tell  it  not  in  Gath,  publish  it  not  in 


THE  DEATH  OF  HENRY  CLAY. 


213 


the  streets  of  Ashkelon,  lest  the  daughters  of  the 
Philistines  rejoice,  lest  the  daughters  of  the  uncir¬ 
cumcised  triumph.  Ye  daughters  of  Israel,  weep 
over  Saul,  who  clothed  you  in  scarlet  with  other  de¬ 
lights,  who  put  ornaments  of  gold  upon  your  ap¬ 
parel.”  All  traces  of  any  past  unkindness  on  his 
part,  of  any  feeling  of  hostility  and  resentment,  dis¬ 
appear.  He  remembers  not  Saul  the  persecutor, 
Saul  the  envious,  hating,  unjust  man,  hut  remem¬ 
bers  only  Saul,  the  Lord’s  anointed — Saul  the  unfor¬ 
tunate  sovereign  of  a  people  defended  by  the  Lord — • 
Saul  the  mighty  warrior,  whose  prowess  had  been 
proved  in  a  hundred  tights — Saul,  the  father  of  his 
beloved  Jonathan — and  Saul,  whose  kindness  had 
been  shown  to  himself  on  former  occasions,  and  shown 
to  his  family,  and  shown  to  the  families  of  Israel,  over 
whom  he  had  presided,  leading  the  daughters  of 
Israel  to  bewail  him,  when  he  fell  harnessed  in  the 
battle.  He  remembers  now  only  the  best  parts  of 
Saul’s  character,  and  thinks  tenderly  and  sorrowfully 
of  the  loss,  of  all  that  endeared  him  to  his  people,  and 
made  him  honorable  and  illustrious.  Death  puts  a 
veil  before  all  the  blemishes  of  the  fallen  monarch, 
and  brings  out  in  stronger  light  all  his  virtues  and 
all  his  generosities. 

And  this  is  no  unwonted  spectacle  in  this  our 


214 


DISCOURSE  OCCASIONED  BY 


fallen  world,  to  see  those  who  are  dead  receiving  jus¬ 
tice,  and  sometimes  more  than  justice,  at  the  hands 
of  the  living.  It  is  a  redeeming  feature  in  human 
nature,  that  harsh  judgments,  sentiments  of  enmity 
and  hostility,  the  sway  of  unruly  passion,  and  the 
license  of  unbridled  tongues  should  be  arrested  by 
the  grave,  and  should  bow  abashed  and  tamed  be¬ 
fore  the  power  of  the  great  destroyer.  There  lies 
the  object  who  once  excited  resentment  and  rage 
• — the  man  who  crossed  our  path  ;  defeated  our  plans ; 
opposed  our  principles  ;  secured  a  larger  measure  of 
popular  applause  and  favor  than  ourselves ;  carried 
his  own  ends  successfully  by  the  superior  weight  of 
his  talent  and  energy,  in  spite  of  all  opposition ; 
raised  himself  to  honorable  places,  while  we  were 
left  in  obscurity ; — the  man  who,  in  various  ways, 
excited  stern  opposition  against  himself,  and  stirred 
up  within  us  the  foul  pool  of  envy,  wrath,  malice, 
and  uncharitableness.  There  is  the  man  whose  mo¬ 
tives  have  been  impugned,  whose  character  has  been 
assailed  with  detraction,  whose  footsteps  have  been 
dogged  by  the  hootings  and  revilings  of  the  evil- 
minded.  There  is  the  man,  we  will  suppose,  who 
has  actually  entertained  wuong  principles,  and  com¬ 
mitted  wrong  deeds;  who,  in  his  intercourse  with 
men,  has  been  proud,  overbearing,  and  scornfid  ;  and 


THE  DEATH  OF  HENRY  CLAY. 


215 


lias,  by  his  demeanor,  not  less  than  by  positive  inju¬ 
ries,  excited  the  ill-will  and  hostility  of  many  of  his 
fellow-men.  There  he  is — fallen  before  a  stroke 
which  no  mortal  can  resist  or  evade.  He  lies  there 
tame,  quiet,  and  unoffending  enough.  The  fire  of  his 
haughty  eye  is  quenched ;  the  vigor  of  the  stalwart 
arm  is  paralysed.  The  ingenious  plans  of  the  fertile 
and  acute  intellect  can  no  more  be  developed,  nor 
carried  forwards  towards  fulfilment ;  the  voice  of 
authority  and  command  is  never  again  to  be  heard. 
He  shall  no  more  inflict  injury,  or  defeat  his  neigh¬ 
bor’s  plans,  or  excite  animosity,  or  by  moving 
adroitly  and  popularly  among  the  active  hive  of 
mankind,  become  an  object  of  the  envy  or  malice  of 
narrow  and  envious  minds.  There  he  lies — gentle 
and  harmless  as  a  sleeping  babe  !  He  sleeps  well, 
and  so  soundly,  that  no  earthly  din  or  concussion 
shall  awaken  him.  And  when  they  who  may  have 
envied  him,  feared  him,  hated  him,  and  labored  in 
every  way  to  thwart  and  lacerate  him,  and  pull  him 
down  from  his  high  elevation,  approach,  and  look 
upon  his  pallid  face,  and  the  placid  or  perhaps  pain¬ 
ful  expression  which  it  bears,  and  see  the  motion¬ 
less  limbs,  and  the  slight  bands  which  are  now 
enough  to  bind  them — oh !  it  is  hardly  in  human  na¬ 
ture  not  to  find  those  feelings  of  antagonism — long 


216 


DISCOURSE  OCCASIONED  BY 


and  deeply  cherished,  perhaps — insensibly  soften, 
and  vanish  before  this  plaintive  spectacle.  What 
heart,  save  that  of  a  fiend,  could  retain  its  malignity 
while  gazing  upon  the  face  of  the  dead,  or  inwardly 
exult  that  the  mighty  had  fallen,  and  thus  an  obstruc¬ 
tion  to  survivors’  progress  been  taken  out  of  the 
way !  The  best  parts  of  our  nature  would  then  he 
likely  to  vindicate  their  existence  and  their  power. 
And  even  the  unsanctified  heart,  awed  and  melted 
by  such  a  spectacle,  would  lay  aside  its  unholy  ani¬ 
mosities,  and  think  with  poignant  regret  upon  their 
former  undisciplined  and  lawless  exercise,  and  the 
sad  excesses  to  which  they  led ;  and  while  feeling 
mournfully  that  the  wrong  done  to  the  poor  sleeper 
there  could  never  he  repaired  to  him,  would  remem¬ 
ber,  in  this  time  of  strong  reaction,  all  the  bright 
points  in  his  character — how  just,  and  kind,  and  mag¬ 
nanimous,  and  heroic  he  had  been,  and  how  skilful 
to  plan,  and  how  efficient  to  execute,  he  certainly 
was.  No  slur  or  reproach  would  be  cast  upon  his 
name  or  memory,  but  everything  spoken  would  re¬ 
dound  to  his  credit  and  honor. 

Now,  we  rej>eat  it,  this  disposition  on  the  part  of 
man  is  a  redeeming  point  in  his  character,  showing 
that  he  is  not  altogether  lost  to  justice  and  humanity. 
In  the  case  of  David,  indeed,  weeping  over  the  death 


TIIE  DEATH  OF  HENRY  CLAY. 


217 


of  Saul,  liis  enemy,  and  mentioning  only  his  good 
deeds  and  kindnesses,  and  saying  not  one  word  to  his 
disparagement,  it  is  not  quite  so  remarkable.  For 
David  had  a  gentle  and  tender  heart,  pervaded  by 
fervent  piety,  which  led  him  to  lie  as  a  frequent 
suppliant  before  the  Almighty  throne,  and  sue  for 
that  mercy  which  he  felt  none  needed  more  than 
himself.  But  in  those  who  have  no  piety  in  particu¬ 
lar,  who  are  led  to  feel  and  act  as  I  have  described, 
the  remark  is  very  noticeable — that  resentments  and 
antipathies  are  forgotten,  as  it  were,  in  the  pre¬ 
sence  of  the  dead,  and  buried,  as  they  always  should 
be,  in  the  grave.  There  is  an  inward  monitor,  whose 
voice  will  be  apt  to  cry  aloud  at  such  times,  and  say 
to  the  persons  who  may  have  pursued  a  man  with 
clamor  and  revilings  to  the  grave — “With  what 
judgment  ye  judge  ye  shall  be  judged,  and  with 
what  measure  ye  mete  it  shall  be  measured  to  you 
again.”  It  is  therefore  creditable  to  our  humanity, 
that  when  the  grave  is  about  to  close  over  one  of  our 
fellow-mortals,  his  failings  and  errors  (as  far  as  possi¬ 
ble)  should  be  forgotten,  and  his  virtues  and  good 
deeds  only  remembered.  And  it  is  certainly  the 
dictate,  not  simply  of  humanity  but  of  justice,  that 
he  who  has  been  wrongfully  and  maliciously  assailed 
and  traduced,  should  have,  when  death  closes  the 

10 


218 


DISCOURSE  OCCASIONED  BY 


scene,  his  merits  and  virtues  truly  stated,  and  his 
reputation  vindicated,  in  the  sorrowing  and  remorse¬ 
less  confessions  of  those  who  have  done  him  wrong. 
Tliis  remark  applies  more  directly  to  the  great  man, 
“  the  mighty  man,”  than  to  one  in  obscure  life ;  for 
in  the  former  case  the  mark  is  broader  and  more 
shining,  and  the  arrows  aimed  at  it  more  likely  to 
reach  and  pierce.  The  wrong  is  committed  on  a 
larger  scale,  and  its  effect,  unless  counteracted,  likely 
to  be  more  injurious  and  enduring.  In  the  case  of 
such  a  man  fallen,  it  is  peculiarly  refreshing  to  wit¬ 
ness  the  wrong  of  many  years  righted — in  a  measure 
at  least — by  the  voluntary  acknowledgments  and 
cordial  applauses  which  spring  from  that  sentiment, 
that  beautilul  and  kindly  impulse  which  has  been 
surveyed. 

The  principle  here  set  forth  is  susceptible  of  a 
wide  application.  I  design  to  apply  it  to  the  case  of 
a  single  individual.  A  mighty  man  among  our 
fellow-citizens  has  recently  fallen.  A  great  name, 
which  for  almost  half  a  century  has  shone  with  dis¬ 
tinguished  lustre,  in  the  galaxy  of  our  country’s 
honor,  will  no  longer  be  inscribed  on  the  catalogue 
of  living  men.  A  statesman,  an  orator,  a  patriot,  a 
benefactor,  than  whom  no  citizen  of  the  republic,  of 
this  age  at  least,  has  received  and  deserved  a  warmer 


THE  DEATH  OF  HENRY  CLAY. 


219 


and  a  wider  admiration,  and  devoted  his  high  pow¬ 
ers  with  more  unwearied  fidelity  to  the  public  good, 
is  now  enrolled  among  the  illustrious  dead.  He 
sleeps  where  the  voice  of  praise  or  blame,  honor  or 
reproach,  adulation  or  detraction,  can  reach  his  ear 
no  more.  His  name  has  long  been  a  household  word 
over  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  land,  familiar  to 
every  home  as  the  names  of  nearest  kindred,  parent, 
wife,  or  child.  And  where  that  name  has  been  pro¬ 
nounced,  there  have  been  no  hateful  or  dreaded 
images  associated  with  it,  such  as  the  tyrant’s  frown, 
the  oppressor’s  wrath,  the  enemy’s  and  avenger’s  li¬ 
cense  ;  but  rather  those  pleasing  images  which  the  mind 
loves  to  have  presented  and  to  dwell  upon — the  elo¬ 
quent  voice  uplifted  for  the  cause  of  Right,  Justice, 
and  Truth — -the  sagacious  and  patriotic  counsels  aim¬ 
ing  at  the  peace,  welfare,  and  prosperity  of  the 
country,  and  those  of  the  families  and  individuals 
composing  it — the  bland  smile  and  address,  and  the 
large,  generous  soul,  all  whose  impulses  were  genial 
and  kindly,  all  whose  energies  were  consecrated  to 
honor,  liberty,  and  humanity.  He  is  fallen ;  the 
mighty  is  fallen,  and  all  that  now  remains  for  those 
who  revered  and  loved  him,  is  to  bewail  the  loss 
they  have  sustained,  honor  his  character  and  services, 
and  properly  cherish  his  memory. 


220 


DISCOURSE  OCCASIONED  BY 


Few  of  our  greatest  men,  whose  lives  have  been 
devoted  to  the  service  of  the  country,  have  been  as¬ 
sailed  with  greater  acrimony  and  fierceness  of  de¬ 
nunciation,  and  have  encountered  in  every  stage  of 
their  public  life  a  sterner  opposition,  aided,  or  sought 
to  he  aided,  by  an  unscrupulous  resort  to  the  most 
reckless  and  calumnious  accusations.  Mr.  Clay  has 
been,  in  certain  periods  of  his  life  at  least,  the  best 
abused  man  in  the  country.  One  might  have  sup¬ 
posed  from  the  clamorous  representations  made  and 
reiterated  in  certain  quarters,  that  he  was  the  worst 
and  most  dangerous  man  among  all  his  compeers — ■ 
that  he  could  stoop  to  any  dishonor — was  adequate  to 
the  commission  of  any  crime — that  his  professions  of 
patriotism  were  a  trick  and  a  sham — and  that  to  ad¬ 
vance  his  own  vaulting  ambition,  he  stood  ready  to 
make  any  sacrifice  of  truth  and  principle.  We  state 
this  as  a  melancholy  fact  which  will  hardly  be  denied, 
though  we  mean  no  particular  disparagement  to 
any  class  or  any  party.  For  the  same  humiliating 
thing  has  been  witnessed,  in  the  case  of  other  public 
men — in  the  case  of  Andrew  Jackson,  for  example, 
the  same  detraction  was  resorted  to  by  his  opponents, 
the  same  unblushing  falsehoods  told  and  believed, 
the  same  injurious  criminations  made,  and  no  epithet 
was  deemed  too  bad  with  which  to  bespatter  cha- 


THE  DEATH  OF  HENRY  CLAY. 


221 


racter  and  principles.  This  is  one  of  the  evils  of  a 
free  country  and  of  an  unshackled  press.  There  is 
no  muzzling  the  liberty  of  thought  and  expression, 
and  in  times  of  high  excitement,  the  greatest  license 
is  sometimes  indulged  in  speaking  of  the  sentiments, 
course,  and  character  of  the  men  who  are  put  for¬ 
ward  as  the  standard-bearers  of  their  respective  par¬ 
ties.  If  we  were  to  believe  the  one  party,  at  least 
many  of  its  men  and  organs  who  undertake  to  speak 
for  it,  every  measure  and  principle  opposed  to  it 
must  he  radically  wrong,  every  prominent  advocate 
of  its  doctrines  radically  dishonest  and  corrupt,  and 
everything  connected  with  its  purposes  and  policy 
destructive  of  the  interests  of  the  commonwealth. 
If  we  were  to  believe  the  other  party,  we  should  be 
driven  to  the  same  conclusion  in  respect  to  their  op¬ 
ponents  and  their  principles.  Both  cannot  be  right, 
though  both  may  easily  be  wrong.  And  the  plain  truth 
is,  that  in  every  case  and  all  cases  of  this  loud-mouthed 
and  wholesale  denunciation,  neither  party  is  to  be  im¬ 
plicitly  believed.  W e  cannot  doubt  very  much  of  their 
abuse  and  crimination  to  be  spiced  with  exaggera¬ 
tion,  uncharitableness,  and  falsehood.  We  believe,  as 
a  general  thing,  the  men  they  declaim  against  are 
far  better  than  they  are  represented  to  be,  and  quite 
as  worthy  and  exemplary  at  least  as  the  persons  by 


222 


DISCOURSE  OCCASIONED  BY 


whom  they  are  assailed.  And  we  prefer  on  all  oc¬ 
casions  to  exercise  our  own  sober  judgment  and 
intelligent  convictions,  in  regard  both  to  measures 
and  men,  believing  that  we  shall  find  in  both  some¬ 
what  to  commend  and  somewhat  to  condemn;  and 
quite  sure  that  we  shall  find,  if  we  are  candid,  abso¬ 
lute  perfection  in  neither. 

But  what  I  would  say  is,  that  in  the  case  of  Mr. 
Clay,  the  voice  of  clamor,  detraction,  abuse,  and  evil 
speaking  is  hushed  in  presence  of  his  cold  remains. 
The  intelligence  of  his  death — though  the  event  has 
been  long  expected — creates  a  general  and  profound 
sensation.  Persons  of  all  parties,  with  a  prompti¬ 
tude  and  cordiality  which  reflect  great  credit  upon 
their  convictions  and  sensibility,  vie  with  each  other 
in  paying  due  honor  to  his  services  and  character. 
And  “  how  is  the  mighty  fallen”  is  the  deep-toned 
sentiment  echoed  from  Maine  to  Mexico,  and  from 
the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific  shore.  The  blemishes 
and  imperfections  of  his  character  and  life — and 
who,  of  mortals,  is  without  his  share — are  over¬ 
looked,  if  not  forgotten,  while  his  shining  excellen¬ 
ces  rise  into  brighter  lustre,  and  elicit  the  sponta¬ 
neous  sincere  eulogiums  not  only  of  ardent  friends, 
but  of  those  who  have  long  and  determinedly  differed 
from  him  on  questions  of  national  policy.  He  is  fer- 


THE  DEATH  OF  HENRY  CLAY. 


223 


vently,  though  pensively,  commended  as  the  saga¬ 
cious  statesman  whose  best  counsels  and  energies  have 
been  unweariedly,  and  for  half  a  century,  given  to 
advance  the  interests  and  honor  of  the  common¬ 
wealth  ;  the  orator,  whose  burning  words,  the  vehicle 
of  a  powerful  logic,  have  again  and  again  echoed 
from  the  halls  of  the  nation’s  capitol,  carrying  per¬ 
suasion  to  many  minds,  exciting  admiration  and 
often  astonishment  in  all,  and  poured  forth  uniformly 
in  advocacy  of  the  rights,  the  interests,  the  honor 
and  welfare  of  the  country,  the  sacredness  of  the 
Constitution  and  the  laws,  the  preservation  of  the 
Union,  the  claims  of  the  government,  the  duties  of 
the  governed ;  the  patriot  and  benefactor — in  whom 
love  of  country  was  a  principle  dear  as  life,  and  the 
prosperity  and  happiness  of  his  countrymen  a 
kindred  principle,  cherished  with  almost  equal  ten¬ 
derness,  and  neither  to  be  yielded  up  while  he  had 
an  arm  to  enforce  or  a  voice  to  utter  his  sentiments ; 
and  the  Christian  too — alas!  that  his  convictions 
had  not  been  acted  on  by  an  earlier  consecration — 
who  found  his  crowning  honor  to  consist  in  laying 
all  his  fame,  and  talent,  and  influence  at  the  feet  of 
the  Crucified,  deriving  strength  from  the  heavenly 
support,  consolation  from  the  Divine  promises  of 
mercy.  I  say  all  these  things,  now  that  Henry  Clay 


224 


DISCOURSE  OCCASIONED  BY 


is  no  more,  are  pointed  at,  commended,  applauded 
in  eloquent  terms,  with  various  voices  from  various 
sections  of  the  land,  and  by  all  sections  of  our  citi¬ 
zens,  showing  the  high  estimate  in  which  the  vene¬ 
rated  dead  is  held  by  his  countrymen,  and  the  pow¬ 
erful  hold  which  such  a  character  and  such  a  life 
have  taken  upon  the  public  mind  and  heart. 

It  will  not  be  expected  that  I  should  set  forth, 
with  anything  like  detail  at  this  time,  the  circum¬ 
stances  connected  with  the  stirring  and  eventful  life 

• 

of  our  honored  and  lamented  fellow-citizen.  These, 
for  the  most  part,  are  well  known,  are  matter  of  his¬ 
tory,  are  spread  out  on  the  pages  of  the  public  press, 
and  scattered  among  all  the  families  in  the  land,  and 
will  form  the  subject  of  those  set  discourses  which 
persons  better  qualified  than  I  am  will  be  called 
upon,  in  due  time,  to  deliver.  I  can  only  avail  my¬ 
self  of  the  occasion  and  the  day — this  appropriate 
day,  the  anniversary  of  the  birth  of  our  nation — to 
glance  at  some  of  the  more  prominent  features  in  his 
character — features  which  have  served  to  impress 
his  name  and  influence  indelibly  upon  the  history  of 
this  country. 

As  a  public  man,  a  statesman,  he  has  most  deser¬ 
vedly  occupied,  and  for  more  than  a  generation,  the 
highest  rank;  adorning  the  stations  which  he  has 


THE  DEATH  OF  HENRY  CLAY. 


225 


held  with  the  qualities  of  prudence,  sagacity,  sin¬ 
cerity,  and  ardent  love  for  the  welfare  and  prosperity 
of  his  country  and  of  all  classes  of  its  citizens,  and 
an  earnest  intention  to  devote  all  his  ability  to  the 
promotion  of  these  high  objects.  At  the  age  of  26 
A.D.  1803,  he  was  first  elected  to  a  seat  in  the  Legis¬ 
lature  of  his  State,  and  from  that  period  to  the  pre¬ 
sent,  with  a  few  brief  interruptions,  he  may  be  said  to 
have  been  continually  engaged  in  the  public  service 
— that  is  for  a  period  of  forty-nine  years,  from  his  first 
appearance  in  a  Legislative  body,  until  death  closed 
his  labors  on  a  field  where  many  a  toilsome  duty  had 
been  discharged,  many  a  sore  struggle  for  principle 
encountered,  and  many  a  signal  victory  won,  and 
many  a  pang  of  disappointment  felt — for  this  long 
period,  with  here  and  there  a  short  interval,  when 
the  harness  of  active  service  was  laid  aside,  his  name 
has  been  known  familiarly,  and  his  services  devoted 
to  matters  of  public  concernment  and  interest.  ILe 
was  not  indeed  so  long  in  public  employment  as 
John  Quincy  Adams — for  his  unprecedented  term 
extends  from  the  age  of  fourteen  to  upwards  of  four¬ 
score — but  how  rare  is  it  for  an  individual  to  spend 
in  the  active  service  of  the  State  the  period  of  half 
a  century ;  how  staunch  must  be  the  energy  and  per- 
severence  :  how  rare  the  qualifications,  and  how 

10* 


226 


DISCOURSE  OCCASIONED  BY 


early  matured  the  understanding,  of  the  person  who 
is  called  to  occupy  posts  of  honor  and  responsibility, 
at  an  age  when  most  persons  have  hardly  completed 
their  preliminary  preparations.  His  rise  was  rapid, 
and  well  sustained  at  every  point.  Ho  constituent 
of  his  had  ever  cause  to  blush  that  his  favorite  can¬ 
didate  proved  himself  disqualified  for  the  office  into 
which  he  was  placed,  or  unworthy  of  the  honor  con¬ 
ferred  upon  him.  Whether  as  Legislator,  Congress¬ 
man,  Senator,  Secretary  of  State,  Commissioner  to 
adjust  a  National  Treaty — he  equally  adorned  each 
station,  and  found  himself  amply  adequate  to  the 
discharge  of  its  duties.  And  though  the  highest 
office  in  the  gift  of  the  people,  for  which  he  had 
been  several  times  in  nomination,  was  destined  never 
to  be  reached  by  him ;  yet  no  candid  man,  he  he 
friend  or  foe,  would  ever  have  doubted  his  admirable 
qualifications  for  this  office,  nor  scrupled  to  confess, 
that  if  inducted  into  it,  he  would  have  adorned  it 
with  accomplishments  such  as  rarely  indeed,  in  these 
later  days,  surround  the  Presidential  chair.  His 
statesmanship  was  of  a  high  order,  combining  skill 
and  sagacity  in  planning,  fearlessness  and  indomita¬ 
ble  energy  in  executing,  with  great  directness  of  aim 
and  sincerity  of  purpose,  over  all  which  a  glowing 
patriotism  cast  its  sunshine  and  its  warmth,  render- 


THE  DEATH  OF  HENRY  CLAY. 


227 


ing  his  influence  in  every  station  as  salutary  as  it 
was  potential  and  commanding. 

His  sagacious  counsels  he  had  the  art  and  power  to 
enforce  by  an  eloquence  such  as  is  rarely  given  to 
mortals.  Eloquence  of  the  highest  order  is  not  com¬ 
monly  bestowed.  It  is  rare  indeed  that  we  witness 
among  men  the  unmistakable  evidence  of  its  pre¬ 
sence.  But  Mr.  Clay  certainly  possessed  it,  and 
according  to  the  testimony  of  all  who  have  heard 
him  in  his  happiest  moods,  the  effect  of  his  elo¬ 
quence  at  times  must  have  been  irresistible  and 
overwhelming.  I  had  an  opportunity  of  listening  to 
him,  something  upwards  of  two  years  ago  (May, 
1850),  in  a  reply  to  Mr.  Soule,  of  Louisiana,  on  the 
great  question  of  the  Compromise  Measures.  He 
was  an  old  man  then,  returned  to  the  Senate  at  a 
time  when  his  years  demanded  quiet  and  repose — 
returned  there  in  his  love  for  the  country,  to  exert 
his  influence  and  uplift  his  voice  for  the  cause  of 
conciliation,  peace,  and  union.  He  was  an  old  man, 
and  much  of  the  energy  of  his  younger  years  might  be 
supposed  impaired ;  but  his  eye  was  not  dim,  nor  did 
his  natural  force  seem  abated,  nor  were  the  fine  tones 
of  his  clarion  voice  unstrung  or  tremulous,  but  as  he 
rose,  and  there  was  a  hush  to  hear  him,  and  every 
eye  in  the  crowded  house  was  fastened  intently  on 


228 


DISCOURSE  OCCASIONED  BY 


him,  and  the  importance  of  the  subject  got  possession 
of  his  mind,  and  the  stimulating  force  of  the  occasion 
and  the  surrounding  circumstances,  and  the  excite¬ 
ment  of  replying  to  a  strong  argument  of  a  strong 
opponent,  aroused  his  feelings  into  activity — there 
were  volleys  of  words  and  arguments  discharged, 
aided  by  the  glances  of  an  eye  that  seemed  to  shoot 
forth  sparks,  and  every  feature  of  a  most  speaking 
countenance  all  alive,  glowing,  almost  distorted,  at 
times  with  the  earnestness  of  his  convictions ; — while 
the  voice  of  the  grand  old  orator  rolled  along  the 
arches,  and  filled  every  crevice  of  the  hall,  or  sank  at 
times  into  deep,  distant  thunder  tones,  each  accent 
of  which  was  distinctly  audible  to  every  hearer. 

It  was  a  fine  spectacle,  and  imposing  and  instruc¬ 
tive,  and  one  which  will  abide  long  in  the  memory — 
a  pleasant  thing  to  revert  to — to  associate  always 
with  it  the  name  and  services  of  the  patriot  orator, 
whose  untiring  efforts  in  behalf  of  compromise  and 
reunion,  went  far  towards  effecting  the  desired  result, 
although  the  labor  and  excitement  of  this  memo¬ 
rable  contest  hurried  the  sands  out  of  his  already 
declining  hour-glass.  True  eloquence  is  a  wonderful 
gift  and  faculty.  It  is  a  dangerous  endowment, 
because  so  powerful,  when  found  in  possession  of 
wicked  and  unscrupulous  men,  but  a  noble  faculty 


THE  DEATH  OF  HENRY  CLAY. 


229 


where  it  resides  with  patriotism,  and  honor,  and  in¬ 
tegrity.  History  has  already  written  with  bright 
characters  the  purposes  and  objects  which  enlisted 
the  eloquence  of  Henry  Clay  for  years  and  years, 
during  one  of  the  most  interesting  and  stirring  periods 
in  onr  nation’s  progress  towards  greatness  and  ex¬ 
panding  empire.  And  the  records  of  future  centu¬ 
ries  will  not  unsay,  but  say  more  decisively,  what 
has  already  been  said,  in  regard  to  the  character, 
purposes,  services  of  the  “  eloquent  orator,”  whose 
voice  shall  no  more  thrill  men’s  hearts  and  prompt 
their  energies  to  high  and  honorable  achievements. 

The  earnest,  self-denying,  devoted  love  of  country, 
has  ever  been  regarded  as  among  the  most  sa¬ 
cred  and  amiable  virtues ;  and  they  who  have 
possessed  and  exercised  it,  through  evil  report  and 
good  report,  who  have  shown  its  depth  and  sin¬ 
cerity  by  sacrifices  of  comfort,  of  substance,  and 
sometimes  of  life,  are  looked  upon  with  veneration 
and  affection  by  all  upright  minds,  and  are  embalmed 
in  unfading  honor  in  all  sincere  hearts.  A  long  cata¬ 
logue,  a  splendid  galaxy,  of  noble  names  rise  before 
me  as  I  mention  the  word  patriotism, — names  which 
illustrate  their  own  annals,  and  appear  with  un¬ 
dimmed  lustre  upon  ours — names  belonging  to 
various  peoples  and  nations,  and  various  ages  of  the 


230 


DISCOURSE  OCCASIONED  BY 


world— blit  regarded  by  all  liberal  minds  as  not  the 
peculiar  property  of  any  nation  or  age,  but  as 
belonging  to  the  world,- — as  the  property  of  freedom 
and  human  rights,  as  cherished  members  of  an  uni¬ 
versal  brotherhood,  whose  aim  is  to  elevate  man’s 
condition,  and  invest  him  with  the  rights  and  privi¬ 
leges  for  which  the  Creator  destined  him.  These 
names  of  illustrious  patriots  of  former  ages  are  min¬ 
gled  and  blended  with  illustrious  names  on  the  pages 
of  our  own  history  :  brothers  united  with  brothers,  in 
one  common  cause,  in  one  sacred  pursuit,  in  one 
noble  aspiration  and  struggle.  They  wished  to  be 
freemen,  and  many  of  them  became  such,  though 
some  were  baffled  and  cast  into  prison  and  loaded 
with  chains,  and  some  died  to  save  the  country  they 
loved.  Alas,  for  those  martyr  heroes  !  whose  blood 
stained  the  soil  they  panted  to  redeem  from  bondage. 
They  died, — -but  their  names,  and  blessed  be  God, 
their  principles  live  ;  and  each  blade  of  grass  once 
red  with  the  blood  of  heroes,  has  a  tongue  and  a 
voice  with  which  to  swell  the  shout  of  freedom’s  tri¬ 
umph,  cries  out  against  the  oppressor,  and  becomes 
a  witness  for  the  truth,  and  a  prophet  of  a  better 
and  brighter  day  that  is  swiftly  coming. 

The  name  of  our  venerated  statesman  and  ora¬ 
tor  who  has  just  left  us  for  the  spirit-land  is  now 


THE  DEATH  OF  HENRY  CLAY. 


231 


recorded,  and  worthily  and  ineffaceably  recorded, 
upon  the  imposing  list  of  our  nation’s  and  the 
world’s  purest  patriots.  Did  they  love  their  country 
with  earnest  devotion?  so  did  he.  Did  they  give 
means,  and  substance,  and  time,  and  toil,  and  abi¬ 
lity,  and  influence  to  advance  its  honor,  promote 
its  wTelfare,  secure  the  perpetuity  of  its  benign 
institutions  ?  so  did  he.  Did  some  of  them  even 
die  for  love  of  their  native  land  ?  so  did  not  he, 
literally — that  is,  hewn  down  like  Hampden,  Warren, 
Bozzaris,  who  fell  with  weapons  in  their  hands — but 
he  fell  still  while  at  his  post  of  duty ;  and  it  may  be, 
that  a  few  years  more  might  have  been  added  to  his 
life,  and  that  life  ended  amid  the  peaceful  shades 
and  solacing  attentions  of  his  own  home,  but  for  the 
yearning  anxiety  to  aid  in  the  settlement  of  a  per¬ 
plexing  and  difficult  question,  and  the  exhausting 
toils  which  his  participation  in  it,  at  his  advanced 
stage  of  life,  required.  His  patriotism,  however,  is 
unquestioned,  and  entitles  him  to  the  gratitude  of 
the  country  he  has  served  so  long  and  so  well.  “  I 
believe,”  says  Mr.  Cass,  “  that  he  was  as  pure  a 
patriot  as  ever  participated  in  the  councils  of  a 
nation — anxious  for  the  public  good,  and  seeking  to 
attain  it  during  all  the  vicissitudes  of  a  long  and 
eventful  life.”  This  is  decisive  praise  on  the  part  of 


232 


DI8C0UKSE  OCCASIONED  BY 


one  who  knew  him  long  and  intimately,  and  was 
moreover  opposed  to  him  on  many  national  questions . 
But  it  is  praise  which  every  candid  bosom  will 
respond  to  almost  spontaneously,  and  which  will  he 
unalterably  confirmed  by  the  grateful  voice  of  pos¬ 
terity.  His  country  was  enshrined  in  his  affections, 
and  her  welfare  and  happiness  had  a  place  among 
the  last  faint  expressions  which  trembled  on  his 
lips. 

He  is  not  only  regarded  with  veneration  and 
gratitude  for  his  patriotism,  and  the  distinguished 
services  which  he  has  rendered  the  country,  but  with 
a  warmth  of  personal  affection  with  which  few 
public  men  succeed  in  inspiring  others.  His  perso¬ 
nal  qualities  were  such  as  to  exert  a  magic  upon  all 
who  came  within  his  circle,  and  his  legions  of  friends 
all  over  the  country  were  linked  to  him  by  hooks  of 
steel.  There  was  a  charm  in  his  conversation,  a 
frankness  in  his  manner  and  very  countenance,  a 
heartiness  in  his  salutation,  a  warmth  of  cordiality 
beaming  from  his  eye,  expressed  in  his  smile,  in  his 
gestures,  in  the  tones  of  his  voice,  which  were  per¬ 
fectly  irresistible.  His  friends  were  ready  to  under¬ 
go  any  toil  or  sacrifice  to  do  him  a  service,  and 
embarked  in  his  cause  with  the  utmost  alacrity  and 
enthusiasm,  when  he  was  a  candidate  for  the  suffrages 


THE  DEATH  OF  HENRY  CLAY. 


233 


of  the  people ;  and  when  he  failed  of  being  borne 
into  the  Presidential  chair  in  the  earnest,  stirring 
campaign  of  1844,  there  was  a  voice  of  despondency 
and  sorrow,  almost  of  lamentation,  raised  on  the  part 
of  his  attached  adherents  everywhere,  which  pro¬ 
claimed  how  ardent  was  their  affection,  how  intense 
was  their  desire  to  elevate  their  favorite  to  the 
position  which  his  long  and  signal  services  richly 
merited,  and  to  which  he  had  himself  looked  forward 
with  a  steady  and  honorable  ambition. 

When  an  important  measure  was  to  be  carried,  he 
prevailed  not  more  in  impressing  his  convictions  upon 
other  minds  by  his  public  harangues  than  by  his 
personal  influence,  and  the  persuasions  of  his  witch¬ 
ing  conversation  and  address.  He  was  a  man  evi¬ 
dently  constituted  for  guiding  and  leading  other 
minds,  not  following  in  any  beaten  track.  All  who 
saw  and  heard  and  associated  with  him  acknowledged 
the  subtle  mastery  wdiich  he  exercised  over  them, 
almost  unconsciously,  and  followed  a  leader  who 
drew  them  with  the  gentlest  yet  the  most  irresistible 
pressure. 

And  yet  while  such  a  power  was  his,  he  did  not 
exercise  it  sternly  or  tyrannically.  He  was  kind, 
bland,  and  gentle  even  in  his  triumphs,  and  those 
who  were  vanquished  by  him  found  him  always  a 


234 


DISCOURSE  OCCASIONED  BY 


generous  and  considerate  vanquisher.  He  used  vic¬ 
tory  so  well,  that  it  was  neither  shame  nor  pain,  hut 
almost  pleasure,  to  he  overcome  hy  him. 

When  defeated  himself,  he  hore  it  with  equanimity. 
His  natural  buoyancy  kept  him  from  despondency, 
and  few  signs  of  disappointment  even  could  be  seen 
hy  the  closest  observers.  He  infused  his  own  elastic 
courage  and  spirit  into  those  around  him,  and  when 
defeated  was  not  disheartened,  hut  with  fresh  ardor 
renewed  the  contest  for  principle,  and  as  his  own 
bright  plume  was  seen  to  float,  and  his  clear  voice  to 
resound,  his  routed  followers  were  sure  to  rally  and 
renew  the  struggle  with  undiminished  ardor. 

We  will  not  dwell  upon  these  qualities,  nor  will  I 
point  to  those  imperfections  which,  to  a  nature  so  im¬ 
pulsive  and  impetuous,  were  almost  inevitable.  I 
will  speak  only  in  the  spirit  of  him  who  bewailed  a 
fallen  monarch — of  the  good  and  the  fair  in  his  cha¬ 
racter,  which,  indeed,  so  far  overbalances  what 
remains,  as  to  render  it  insignificant  and  almost  in¬ 
visible  except  with  microscopic  eyes.  His  crowning 
glory  was  his  faith  in  a  crucified  Lord — the  meek, 
child-like  trust  with  which  he  reposed  all  his  hopes 
of  mercy  and  salvation  in  Him  who  tasted  death  that 
man  might  live  for  ever.  To  a  representative  from  his 
own  State  (Mr.  Breckenridge)  who  had  just  returned 


THE  DEATH  OF  HENRY  CLAY. 


235 


from  home,  bearing  to  Mr.  C.  some  affectionate  memo¬ 
rial  from  his  family,  he  said :  “I  am  not  afraid  to  die ; 
I  have  hope,  faith,  and  some  confidence.  I  do  not 
think  any  man  can  be  entirely  certain  in  regard  to 
his  future  state,  but  I  have  an  abiding  trust  in  the 
merits  and  mediation  of  my  Saviour.”  To  his  own 
spiritual  teacher  he  expressed  himself  on  frequent 
occasions,  fully  and  unreservedly,  upon  the  great 
truths  of  the  Christian  scheme — the  unshaken,  long- 
cherished  convictions  of  his  mind  of  the  truth  and 
grandeur  of  Christ’s  religion — the  grounds  of  his 
hope  and  confidence — the  calmness  with  which  faith 
in  Christ’s  atonement  enabled  him  to  look  forward 
to  the  immortal  state,  and  feel  some  assurance  that 
his  own  unworthy  name  wrould  not  be  rejected  by 
the  merciful  Redeemer.  He  received  in  his  sick 
room  the  affecting  memorials,  the  bread  and  the 
wrine,  of  that  Redeemer’s  love — rej  oiced  in  the  privi¬ 
lege  of  recording  an  unfaltering  testimony  to  the 
truth  and  preciousness  of  that  religion  which  teaches 
how  to  live  usefully  and  to  die  serenely — wdiose 
claims  had  long  impressed  him,  though  too  long,  as 
he  sadly  owned,  disallowed — and  died  at  length,  rest¬ 
ing  on  the  eternal  Rock,  and  calmly  committing  his 
immortal  part  into  his  Saviour’s  hands. 

I  will  venture  to  call  such  a  close  of  such  a  life 


236 


DISCOURSE  OCCASIONED  BY 


heroic.  There  is,  in  the  whirl  of  politics,  in  the  ex¬ 
citement  attendant  on  public  life,  and  especially  in 
the  public  life  of  a  distinguished  man,  so  much  that 
tends  directly  to  hinder  sober  meditation  and  quench 
religious  influence,  that  it  is  scarcely  wonderful  that 
the  power  of  religion  is  so  seldom  seen  in  high 
stations.  The  thoughts  are  preoccupied  and  wholly 
occupied  with  other  things,  and  hence  u  God  is  not 
in  all  the  thoughts/’  It  is  refreshing  to  see,  under 
these  circumstances,  a  great  mind  struggling  to  break 
away  from  the  entanglements  of  such  a  dangerous 
situation — yield  to  its  long-restricted  but  never- 
smothered  convictions  of  heavenly  truth  and  personal 
duty,  and  undeterred  by  opposing  influences,  own 
the  mastership  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  bow  as  a  weep¬ 
ing  penitent  before  him. 

This  Henry  Clay  did.  And  they  who  know  any¬ 
thing  of  his  sincerity  and  love  of  truth,  must  know 
that  his  religious  consecration  was  entirely  cordial 
and  conscientious,  and  expressed  the  honest  deep- 
toned  convictions  of  his  soul. 

The  Christian  religion,  indeed,  derives  no  honor 
from  man.  The  mightiest  man  who  embraces  it 
aright  honors  himself  infinitely,  honors  the  religion 
not  at  all.  It  receives  no  fresh  dignity  by  the  acces¬ 
sion  to  its  ranks  of  the  wise,  the  mighty,  or  the  noble. 


THE  DEATH  OF  HENRY  CLAY. 


237 


The  power  of  its  sway,  the  lustre  of  its  excellences, 
appears  as  clearly  in  the  humblest  as  in  the  highest. 
But  it  is  pleasant,  notwithstanding,  to  point  to  such  a 
disciple  as  the  illustrious  deceased,  and  reckon  him 
among  those  receiving  the  kingdom  of  God  as  a  little 
child — to  hold  up  his  faith  as  an  example  to  a  per¬ 
verse  generation,  to  point  his  admirers  to  the  source 
whence  he  derived  all  his  calmness  and  comfort  in  a 
dying  hour — to  show  the  witlings,  the  scoffers,  the 
faithless  and  profane,  who  treat  the  most  sacred 
things  with  contemptuous  levity,  and  turn  scornfully 
away  from  the  pure  teachings  of  the  Son  of  God — 
one  of  the  grandest  spirits  of  the  age  bowing  sub¬ 
missively  at  the  feet  of  the  Aazarene,  owning  his 
doctrines  as  the  highest  wisdom,  his  aid  the  only 
support,  his  mercy  the  only  joy  and  safety  of  the 
soul.  If  there  is  force  in  example,  what  a  striking 
example  have  we  here,  and  how  loudly  should  it 
speak.  And  yet  this  example,  beautiful  as  it  is,  is 
only  the  reflection,  the  copy  of  other  nobler  ex¬ 
amples,  whose  faith  in  a  risen  Lord,  himself  the 
most  glorious  example,  has  recorded  their  names 
imperishably  for  the  guidance  and  encouragement 
of  all  wandering  souls.  May  their  earnest  united 
voice  not  be  uplifted  in  vain ! 

There  are  practical  lessons  which  the  survey  of 


238 


DISCOURSE  OCCASIONED  BY 


this  subject  suggests,  the  outline  of  several  of  which 
will  appear  in  the  following  reflections,  and  then 
my  present  task  is  done. 

Let  the  young  men  of  the  nation  learn  what  duty 
to  themselves,  and  duty  to  their  country,  requires. 
A  career  of  honor  is  open  to  you  all.  A  post  of  use¬ 
fulness,  if  not  of  renown,  may  be  certainly  attained, 
and  should  be  determinedly  sought.  An  humble 
origin  and  crippled  means  are  no  impassable  barriers 
to  stations  of  respectability  and  influence.  Our  free 
institutions  open  the  path  to  success,  and  invite  the 
aspirant  to  pursue  it.  And  industry  and  diligence, 
a  courageous  heart,  a  firm  faith,  with  sincerity  of 
purpose,  honesty,  and  uprightness  in  the  use  of 
means,  high  principle,  and  moral  decision,  that  op¬ 
poses  a  stern  front  to  all  dishonoring  solicitations, 
from  whatever  source,  and  trust  in  God’s  aid  and 
mercy — are  the  materials  evermore  out  of  which 
patriots,  good  citizens,  honorable  and  honored  men 
are  made.  These  made  Henry  Clay  what  he  was, 
and  have  embalmed  his  name  in  the  nation’s  heart. 
Llis  distinguished  rank  and  reputation  you  may  never 
reach.  This  is  the  lot  of  very  few,  indeed,  of  man¬ 
kind,  and  the  thing  is  not  intrinsically  important,  for 
neither  usefulness  nor  happiness  depends  upon  it.  If 
you  have  fewer  talents,  you  will  have  fewer  dangers 


THE  DEATH  OF  HENRY  CLAY. 


239 


and  cares,  and  less  responsibility.  But  you  may  at¬ 
tain  honor,  every  young  man  may  attain  it,  and  with 
honor  usefulness,  and  more  or  less  of  influence,  which 
may  he  exerted  beneficently  for  the  highest  interests 
of  society.  You  may  become  Christian  patriots, 
though  your  sphere  remain  comparatively  humble, 
and  honorable  and  respected  wherever  your  name  is 
known,  for 

“  Honor  and  fame  from  no  condition  rise, 

Act  well  your  part ,  there  all  the  honor  lies.” 

Let  temptation  be  resisted,  let  truth  be  loved,  let 
dishonesty  and  insincerity  be  loathed,  let  corrupt  as¬ 
sociates  be  shunned,  let  industrious  habits  be  culti¬ 
vated,  let  the  society  of  the  just  and  wise  be  valued, 

* 

and  their  counsels  and  example  be  heeded,  let  the 
religion  of  Christ  shed  its  benign  influence  along 
your  path,  and  its  fertilizing  dews  fall  upon  your 
hearts,  and  whatever  your  hand  finds  to  do  of 
good,  do  it  with  all  your  might, — and  you  rise  to  the 
dignity  of  mm,  patriotic  men,  large-minded  and 
liberal-souled  men,  virtuous  and  useful  men — men 
of  whom  every  society  may  well  be  proud,  and  to 
whom  the  commonwealth  may  point  with  pride  as 
the  jewels  of  her  crown,  the  ramparts  of  her  de¬ 
fence,  the  safety  and  glory  of  her  institutions,  the 


240 


DISCOURSE  OCCASIONED  BY 


pledge  of  her  abiding  honor  and  increasing  great¬ 
ness,  and  of  the  perpetuity  of  a  heritage  bought  with 
blood,  and  destined  to  he  transmitted  to  remotest 
generations.  And  when  your  work  is  done  here, 
that  pure  religion,  which  has  the  promise  of  the  life 
that  now  is,  will  prove  a  sure  passport  to  that 
blissful  life  which  is  to  come.  Your  children  who 
come  after  you  will  bury  you  with  honest  lamenta¬ 
tions,  and  profiting  by  your  principles  and  example, 
will  stand  fast  in  the  path  of  duty  and  honor,  as 
their  fathers  stood,  and  in  God’s  good  time  deliver 
up  into  other  hands  the  fair  inheritance  received 
from  you. 

This  is  the  Fourth  of  July,  and  the  quiet  repose 
of  the  blessed  Sabbath  blends  with  the  tumultuous 
feelings  awakened  by  this  illustrious  anniversary, 
and  gives  a  sober  air  to  our  joy.  The  Lord  of  the 
Sahhatli  is  the  God  of  nations,  and  the  Father  of  his 
people.  And  while  we  honor  his  institutions,  and 
bow  before  him  here  as  suppliant  worshippers,  our 
sentiments  of  piety  are  not  incongruous  with  senti¬ 
ments  of  patriotism  ;  our  confessions  of  sin,  and  praise 
for  His  mercies,  are  perfectly  accordant  with  the  j  oy- 
ful  hailing  of  another  return  of  our  nation’s  birth¬ 
day,  and  the  stirring  recollection  of  all  the  privi¬ 
leges  which  it  commemorates.  Let  the  united 


THE  DEATH  OF  HENRY  CLAY. 


241 


occasion  receive  united  praise  for  the  light  of  the 
Sabbath,  and  the  light  of  civil  freedom.  The  Giver 
of  all  good  gifts  has  bestowed  them  both,  with  every 
other  priceless  mercy  by  which  onr  “  goodly  heri¬ 
tage”  is  distinguished.  And  let  the  wafted  praises 
which  this  day  go  upwards  to  His  throne  bear  the 
profound  thanks  and  homage  of  our  hearts  for  Chris¬ 
tian  Sabbaths,  with  all  their  privileges  continued, 
our  liberties  preserved,  our  land  prosperous,  our 
citizens  happy,  our  past  years  marked  by  success 
and  expansion,  our  future  by  no  lowering  clouds  to 
excite  serious  alarm. 

Time,  nature,  and  change  are  doing  their  work, 
but  the  course  of  Providence  is  uniform.  The 
strong  pillars  of  the  Republic  fall  one  after  another, 
but  the  throne  of  the  Omnipotent  stands.  The  hoary  r 
and  beloved  patriot  dies,  but  God  lives — yes,  and  will 
fulfil  His  purposes,  and  preserve  His  heritage,  what¬ 
ever  changes  may  take  place  in  the  natural  world, 
or  in  human  society  and  affairs.  The  stability  of  a 
state,  any  more  than  the  course  of  nature,  does  not 
depend  upon  the  life  or  death  of  individuals.  A 
chasm  is  produced  when  a  mighty  man,  like  him  we 
mourn  this  day,  falls,  but  it  does  not  cripple  nor 
paralyze  the  State.  W e  honor  the  illustrious  dead — 
we  mourn  that  he  is  taken  from  us — a  nation’s  tears 

11 


242 


DISCOURSE  OCCASIONED  BY 


will  fall  upon  his  grave.  Would  that  he  had  lived 
a  few  days  longer  ;  that  he  had  been  spared  to  greet 
once  more  this  natal  day,  which  was  wont,  as  it 
returned,  to  fill  his  patriotic  heart  with  joyful  and 
grateful  emotions ;  would  that  with  Adams,  and  J ef- 
ferson,  and  Monroe,  he  could  have  looked  on  his  last 
earthly  day  upon  yonder  bright  sun  shining  upon  a 
prosperous  and  rejoicing  people,  and  seen  the  fair 
and  fruitful  fields  of  his  loved  country  gleaming  in 
its  rays,  and  felt  the  rapture  which  the  sight  and  the 
associations  must  have  inspired,  and  then  breathed 
forth  his  spirit  with  the  prayer,  “  Lord,  now  lettest 
thou  thy  servant  depart  in  peace.” 

This  might  seem  to  us  the  most  fitting  closing 
scene  of  our  honored  patriot’s  life,  but  God  ordered 
•  otherwise,  and  ordered  wisely.  The  mighty  has 
fallen — the  scene  has  closed — the  breach  has  taken 
place ;  but,  as  was  remarked,  however  great  the 
loss,  the  course  of  affairs  will  not  be  interrupted. 
The  death  of  the  individual,  however  distinguished 
and  useful,  is  but  a  ripple  on  the  surface  of  society. 
A  little  while,  and  all  is  tranquil  and  composed  as  it 
was  before.  God  administers  the  affairs  of  nations, 
and  unfolds  and  executes  his  purposes.  He  provides 
the  material  and  raises  up  the  men  to  carry  out  his 
design.  He  rules  in  righteousness  and  honors  the 


THE  DEATH  OF  HENRY  CLAY. 


243 


meek  and  lowly,  the  devout  and  truthful  who  honor 
Him,  and  tremble  at  His  word.  He  hates  sin  and 
loves  holiness ;  and  while  he  can  by  no  means  clear 
the  guilty,  will  visit  the  just  and  upright  with  deci¬ 
sive  tokens  of  His  favor.  Let  us  love  and  practise 
the  principles  which  lie  at  the  foundation  of  all 
national  greatness,  of  all  social  well-being  and  pro¬ 
gress.  Let  the  love  of  country  be  warm  and  ardent, 
but  let  it  be  purified  and  ennobled  by  the  fear  of 
God,  which  is  the  beginning  of  wisdom,  and  by  the 
love  of  God,  which  casteth  out  fear  of  His  anger,  so 
long  as  we  are  loyal  to  His  authority.  Then  let  time 
and  nature  have  their  course.  We  need  not  be  afraid. 
Let  dangers  frown  ;  they  shall  be  turned  aside.  Let 
calamity  overtake  ;  it  shall  not  uproot  our  safety  nor 
destroy  our  peace.  Let  our  mighty  men  fall  into 
the  grave  around  us.  The  pillars  of  the  Republic 
shall  stand;  and  guided  by  Infinite  wisdom,  and 
shielded  by  Infinite  power,  the  nation  shall  pursue 
its  steady  course  till  its  high  destiny  be  fulfilled. 


A  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE,  CHARACTER,  AND 
SERVICES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER, 


PRONOUNCED  ON  THANKSGIVING  DAT  NOV.  25TH,  1852. 


“  Juotnm  et  tenacem  propositi  yirum, 

Non  civium  ardor  praya  jubontium, 

Non  vultus  instantis  tyranni 
Mente  quatit  solida.” 

Hob.  Ode  hi.  Lib.  8. 

■‘For  behold  the  Lord,  the  Lord  of  hosts,  doth  take  away.... 
the  mighty  man  ....  and  the  honorable  man  and  the  counsellor 
.  .  .  .  and  the  eloquent  orator.” 

Isaiah  iiL  1-3. 

The  separation  of  these  words  from  some  of  the 
expressions  with  which  they  are  immediately  con¬ 
nected,  neither  breaks  the  continuity  of  the  sense 
nor  impairs  the  integrity  of  the  thought.  They 
point  by  certain  descriptive  marks,  to  that  great  man 
on  whom  the  grave  has  recently  closed,  whose  de¬ 
parture  from  among  us  has  caused  a  wide-spread  sen¬ 
sation,  and  drawn  forth  from  every  part  of  the  land 
strong  expressions  of  sorrow  for  his  loss,  of  gratitude 
for  his  services,  and  of  admiration  for  his  character. 


DISCOURSE  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


245 


I  refer,  of  course,  to  Daniel  Webster,  “the  mighty 
mail  and  the  honorable  man,  and  the  counsellor,  and 
the  eloquent  orator.”  None  will  dispute  the  pro¬ 
priety  of  applying  these  epithets  to  'him.  He  is  now 
done  with  the  scenes  and  activities  of  this  life,  and 
enmity  or  malice  can  have  no  motive  to  withhold 
from  him  honors,  which  a  long  and  arduous  life,  de¬ 
voted  to  the  welfare  of  his  country,  entitles  him  to 
wear.  Accordingly,  his  merits  and  his  praises  are 
on  every  tongue.  North  and  South,  the  East  and 
West,  seem  to  vie  with  each  other  in  acknowledging 
his  greatness,  and  in  doing  honor  to  his  name  and 
memory.  The  general  sentiment  is,  “how  is  the 
mighty  fallen  how  wide  is  the  chasm  left  in  the 
public  councils — how  hard,  if  not  impossible,  to  sup¬ 
ply  the  breach  that  has  been  made.  The  whole 
country  knows  his  history  by  heart.  His  image  fills 
every  eye,  and  the  impress  of  his  mighty  genius  is 
left  on  the  mind  and  heart  of  the  nation.  He  has 
stood  so  long  before  the  country,  in  positions  of  honor, 
trust,  and  danger,  raising  the  hopes,  encouraging  the 
efforts,  and  allaying  the  doubts  and  fears  of  men, 
with  his  potential  voice,  that  we  feel  something 
bewildered,  stupified  almost,  as  we  look  up  to  the 
place  he  occupied  and  find  it  vacant.  He  is  gone. 
His  voice  will  be  heard  no  more  by  listening  senates 


246  A  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE,  CHARACTER, 

and  applauding  crowds.  But  his  character,  counsels, 
and  example  remain — for  all  that  is  good  and  great  in 
these,  is,  like  truth  itself,  imperishable.  To  use  his 
own  forcible  words  on  a  memorable  occasion,  “he 
lives  and  will  live,  in  all  that  perpetuates  the  remem¬ 
brance  of  men  on  earth — in  the  recorded  proofs  of 
his  own  great  actions,  in  the  offspring  of  his  intellect, 
in  the  deep  engraved  lines  of  public  gratitude,  in  the 
respect  and  homage  of  mankind,  in  the  influence 
which  his  life  and  efforts,  his  principles  and  opinions 
now  exercise  on  the  affairs  of  men,  not  only  in  their 
own  country,  hut  throughout  the  world.” 

I  have  thought  that  this  anniversary  season  could 
not  he  better  improved,  than  by  making  it  the  occasion 
of  some  remarks  upon  the  character  and  services  of 
this  extraordinary  man.  His  career  has  been  a 
national  one.  His  name  and  fame  are  connected 
with  all  the  great  questions  of  public  concernment, 
which,  for  the  last  forty  years,  have  been  prominently 
before  the  country.  His  name  and  fame,  too,  are  in¬ 
separably  j  oined  to  some  of  those  great  events  con¬ 
nected  with  the  first  settlement,  and  the  Revolution¬ 
ary  struggles  of  the  country — the  mention  of  which 
stirs  the  patriotic  blood  within  us.  He  ranks  among 
the  first  and  purest  of  our  patriots — the  Hancocks, 
Adamses,  Jeffersons,  Hamiltons,  of  our  earlier  history. 


AND  SERVICES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


247 


He  lias  labored  manfully  and  long  to  preserve  and 
perpetuate  all  that  is  fairest  and  most  valuable  in  our 
institutions.  And,  as  the  result  of  his  toils,  he  has 
reared  a  monument  to  himself,  which  must  last  as 
long  as  our  annals  endure. 

It  is  fitting,  then,  to  propose,  on  occasions  like 
these,  the  examples  of  distinguished  public  bene¬ 
factors,  that  lessons  of  wisdom  may  be  drawn 
from  their  principles,  counsels,  and  life.  Example 
is  a  sage  and  impressive  teacher.  The  great  apostle 
employs  it,  when  he  holds  up  before  his  hear¬ 
ers  the  noble  achievements  of  the  great  and  good 
of  former  ages*  He  does  not  counsel  a  blind  and 
unreflecting  reverence  or  imitation — for  the  best 
men  have  blemishes,  and  these  are  not  to  be  admired 
or  followed — but  he  counsels  us  to  admire  what  is 
truly  admirable  and  heroic,  and  follow  as  far  as 
others  have  led  the  way  in  the  path  of  honor  and 
truth.  So  would  we  counsel  to-day — to  follow  no 
one  blindly,  great  as  his  intellect,  renowned  as  his 
name,  may  be — but  follow  wisely,  follow  with  nice 
discernment  of  the  true  course  and  way  of  honor — • 
follow  with  truthful  discrimination  between  the 
shadowy  and  the  real,  the  plausible  and  sincere. 
That  example,  which  leads  to  right  principles  and 
right  deeds,  is  the  only  one  that  can  be  safely  pro- 


248  A  DISCOURSE  OH  THE  LIFE,  CHARACTER, 

posed  to  any  one,  and  certainly  none  other  should  be 
set  before  a  Christian  audience. 

Daniel  Webster’s  fame,  I  have  said,  is  national, 
not  sectional.  He  labored  and  wrought  out  great 
benefits  for  the  whole  country,  not  for  a  part.  He 
has  set  before  us,  and  before  our  children,  an  example 
which  may  be  safely  followed  by  those  who  dwell 
where  the  feet  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  first  trod,  and 
those  whose  habitations  overlook  the  waves  of  the 
Pacific — by  the  dwellers  beside  the  mighty  lakes  of 
the  North,  and  those  who  cultivate  their  rice-fields 
within  sight  of  the  Mexican  Gulf.  His  rare  ge¬ 
nius,  commanding  intellect,  and  influence,  have  been 
devoted  to  advance  the  common  interests  and  welfare 
of  all  sections  of  the  country,  of  every  class  of  its 
citizens.  His  name  and  services  are  the  common 
inheritance  of  Americans.  Providence  has  bestowed 
this  illustrious  man  upon  the  country,  that  the  coun¬ 
try  might  derive  great  and,  as  we  may  hope,  lasting 
benefit  from  his  sagacious  counsels,  honest  admonitions, 
earnest  encouragements,  clear  exposition,  and  strong 
enforcements  of  those  great  principles  which  lie  at 
the  foundation  of  all  our  valued  institutions.  His 
mortal  work  is  done.  He  is  no  longer  numbered 
among  living  men.  “  The  Lord,  the  Lord  of  Hosts,” 
who  gave,  hath  taken  him  away.  That  which  cannot 


AtfD  SERVICES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


249 


die,  however,  remains  and  must  remain,  and  it  is 
that  which  we  are  called  to  contemplate — his  works, 
his  principles,  his  influence,  his  example,  which  form 
the  monument  of  his  greatness,  the  ineffaceable  record 
of  his  long  and  memorable  career.  And  while  we 
humbly  thank  our  Father  in  Heaven  this  day,  for  civil 
and  religious  liberty — for  a  country  the  most  favored 
and  privileged  of  any  on  the  face  of  the  earth — for 
institutions  benign,  wise,  good,  and  capable  of  diffus¬ 
ing  blessings  large  and  free  on  every  side — for  laws 
which  guarantee  the  security  of  property  and  the 
rights  of  every  citizen — let  us  not  forget  the  men 
whose  labors  have  been  the  means  of  guarding, 
defending,  and  rendering  stable  and  perpetual  the 
government,  institutions,  laws,  under  which  it  is  our 
happiness  to  live.  Of  these  men,  Daniel  Webster, 
beyond  all  controversy,  is  one,  and  one  of  the  noblest. 
And  when  we  look  for  instruction  to  the  lessons 
which  his  life  teaches,  we  do  that  which  seems  greatly 
befitting  on  occasion  like  the  present. 

The  high  eminence  he  attained  was  the  fruit  of 
stern  and  sore  struggles  in  his  boyhood  and  early 
youth,  and  this  part  of  his  history,  therefore,  is  full  of 
interest  and  instruction.  For  to  see  a  restless  and 
strong  boyish  intellect,  instinct  with  yearnings  after 
knowledge,  push  its  way  forward  to  a  distant  and 

11* 


250  A  DISCOURSE  OX  THE  LIFE,  CHARACTER, 

deceptive  goal,  through  and  over  obstacles,  before 
which  timid  souls  sit  down  in  despair,  and  by 
undaunted  spirit  and  resolution  conquering  success, 
is  a  refreshing  and  animating  spectacle.  Under  these 
free  institutions  of  ours,  such  spectacles  are  not  rare. 
The  unfriended,  tatterdemalion  boy  has  high  examples 
in  our  history  to  cheer  and  strengthen  his  aspirations, 
and  bid  him  press  forward  ;  and  each  example,  widely 
spread  out  before  a  nation’s  eyes,  is  a  fresh  motive 
power  applied  to  young  struggling  minds  to  aid  the 
throes  which  shall  devetope  the  future  statesmen  and 
guardians  of  the  Republic.  There  is  no  luxurious 
highway  to  learning  under  the  most  favorable  circum¬ 
stances.  And  if  there  were,  Webster  had  not  been 
suffered  to  pursue  it.  His  father  had  neither  wide 
distinction  nor  ample  fortune,  and  could  not  command 
for  his  sons  a  liberal  education,  without  their  own 
exertions  contributing  to  gain  it.  But  he  was  a 
father  of  enlightened  views  and  large  heart,  and 
greatly  desired  to  do  for  them  what  uncompromising 
circumstances  would  not  allow  him  to  do  for  all,  give 
them  education,  which  he  regarded  as  more  valuable 
than  silver  or  gold,  or  lands,  or  merchandise.  In  the 
case  of  only  one  son,  however — the  subject  of  the 
present  remarks — did  he  venture  the  proposal  of  put¬ 
ting  him  in  the  way  of  securing  a  thorough  education, 


AND  SERVICES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


251 


the  advantages  of  which  he  well  understood,  though 
without  enjoying  them  himself.  The  father  was  to 
remain  at  home,  toiling  harder  than  before ;  the  son 
was  to  go  to  the  Academy  and  thence  to  the  College, 
in  order  that 

"  Knowledge  to  his  eyes,  her  ample  page 
Rich  with  the  spoils  of  time,” 

might  become  unrolled  as  the  fruit  of  a  father’s 
sweat  and  self-denial.  Well  might  the  son,  over¬ 
come  with  this  mark  of  self-sacrificing  generosity, 
shed  gushing  tears  when  the  generous  proposal  was 
first  made  to  him.  The  promised  aid  was  given  accord¬ 
ingly — all  that  could  be  given — furnishing  partial  sup¬ 
port,  not  wholly  sufficient  for  the  son’s  maintenance 
at  college.  But  the  son  had  the  spirit  of  his  noble 
sire,  and  what  was  lacking  he  himself  supplied,  by 
teaching  school  during  his  vacations,  and  for  a  year 
after  leaving  college,  at  Fryeburg,  Maine — not  only 
teaching  there,  but  assisting  the  County  Register  at 
the  same  time,  with  a  hand  that  seemed  to  ache ,  as 
years  afterwards  he  spoke  of  its  former  toils.  The 
proceeds  of  his  labor  went  not  to  pay  his  own  way  to 
the  law,  simply,  but  to  help  forward,,  also,  his  brother 
Ezekiel,  whom  he  had  induced  to  attempt  the  ascent 
of  that  “hill  Difficulty,”  which  lies  directly  in  the 


252  A  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE,  CHARACTER, 

path  to  be  trodden  by  the  humble  learner’s  foot,  in 
his  progress  towards  the  longed-for  goal. 

These  things  may  seem  trivial.  They  are,  in  fact, 
important.  They  show  character.  They  indicate 
energy,  decision,  manliness,  which  are  prophetic  of 
the  great  achievements  of  the  future  man.  It  is  by 
such  a  preparatory  discipline,  such  laborious  train¬ 
ing,  such  a  baptism  of  toil  and  self-denial,  that  the 
great  character  is  formed,  moulded,  and  fitted  for 
heroic  deeds.  The  local  habitation,  nature,  and  early 
associations  of  Webster,  were  well  adapted  to  deve- 
lope  his  character,  and  prepare  him  for  what  he  had 
to  do.  His  father’s  rude  house  was  far  towards  the 
North  Star,  to  use  his  own  expression,  almost  on  the 
farthest  verge  of  civilized  dwellings,  amid  the  granite 
hills  of  New  Hampshire  ;  hills,  bleak,  harsh,  and  un- 
temable,  covered  in  winter  with  snow  of  great  depth, 
which  loosened  at  times  from  its  icy  moorings,  was 
wont  to  rush  into  the  valleys  with  the  noise  and  im¬ 
petuosity  of  an  avalanche.  The  giant  forests,  too, 
towered  around,  and  the  wintry  wind,  as  it  swept 
through  their  branches  and  over  rugged  upland  and 
moor,  made  such  music  as  is  apt  to  awaken  high 
emotions  and  lift  the  soul  to  God.  To  a  mind  pro¬ 
perly  attuned,  the  contemplation  of  such  grand  and 
solemn  objects  seldom  fails  to  leave  indelible  im- 


AND  SERVICES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


253 


pressions.  Noble  and  elevating  images  are  brought 
before  the  mind,  frequent  and  familiar  converse  with 
which  imparts  to  it  something  of  their  own  elevation 
and  grandeur.  Whatever  is  base  and  mean  in  pur¬ 
pose  or  thought,  slinks  away,  as  feeling  unfit  for  such 
lofty  association  ;  while  what  is  truly  magnanimous 
in  the  nature,  and  which  had  possibly  remained 
dormant  and  hidden  without  such  arousing  influence, 
is  warmed  into  life  and  activity.  Many  a  notable 
character  which  has  become  historic,  has  had  its 
strength  fostered  and  developed  by  influences  like 
these.*  Besides,  the  father  of  W ebster  was  a  soldier. 
He  had  served  in  the  French  war,  and  also  in  our 
Be  volutionary  struggle,  gallantly  occupying  a  Major’s 
rank  under  the  heroic  Stark.  And  doubtless,  the 
thrilling  narrations  received  at  his  father’s  hearth¬ 
stone  of  the  toils,  hardships,  and  sufferings  endured 
by  that  illustrious  band  of  patriot  heroes,  who  won 
for  us  our  liberties — stories  made  more  intensely 
interesting  by  the  narrator’s  own  experience,  and  by 
the  warm  feelings  of  a  bosom,  retrospectively  throb¬ 
bing  with  the  memory  of  the  fierce  onset,  the 
desperate  strife,  the  shout  of  victory,  and  now  throb¬ 
bing  with  the  consciousness  of  liberty  won  and  all 


*  See  Appendix  A. 


254  A  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LTFE,  CHARACTER, 

its  fair  fruits  freely  enjoyed — went  far  to  fill  the  soul 
of  Webster  with  patriotic  aspirations,  made  love  of 
country  a  passion  with  him,  led  him  to  honor  and 
venerate  those  noble  defenders  of  the  soil,  who 
perilled  all  to  secure  its  freedom,  and  to  utter  after¬ 
wards  his  ardent  love  and  gratitude  in  words  which 
have  embalmed  the  names  of  these  heroes  for  ever — 
words  as  undying  as  the  deeds  they  commemorate. 

But  I  cannot  dwell  on  this,  and  pass  to  notice  Mr. 
Webster  as  a  professional  man.  His  preparatory 
course  was  done.  He  was  a  lawyer,  admitted  to 
practice  in  the  courts.  He  was  a  well  read  lawyer 
from  the  start,  for  his  time  had  been  diligently  im¬ 
proved,  and  what  he  had  read  he  had  not  only 
remembered  and  arranged,  but  had  digested  and 
fully  mastered ;  for  his  mind  was  one  capable  of 
mastering,  and  not  satisfied  unless  it  did  master 
whatever  subject  it  was  intent  on  attaining.  He  was 
impatient  of  knowing  a  thing  by  halves — of  survey¬ 
ing  it  from  a  single  position — of  examining  it  in  one 
or  a  few  aspects.  He  was  intent  and  determined  on 
knowing  it  all.  A  subject  should  be  surveyed  on 
every  side,  searched  all  round,  and  through  and 
through,  before  a  person  presumes  to  say  he  under¬ 
stands  it,  or  undertakes  to  speak  upon  it  with  a  view 
of  enlightening  and  convincing  other  minds.  This 


AND  SERVICES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


255 


was  liis  theory,  and  this,  too,  was  his  practice.  And 
this  will  account  for  one  of  the  marked  peculiarities 
of  Daniel  Webster’s  style.  He  expresses  no  thought 
ambiguously  or  darkly,  but  in  language  so  clear  that 
a  child  almost  may  comprehend  it.  Ilis  thoughts, 
ingenious,  far  reaching,  and  massive  as  they  are,  are 
limpid  as  the  purest  spring.  He  that  runs  may 
read. 

The  reason  is  obvious.  He  understands  his  subj  ect 
himself.  He  has  mastered  it,  in  whole  and  in  detail ; 
and  therefore  has  only  to  state  to  others,  in  a  terse 
and  perspicuous  manner,  what  is  palpable  as  light 
before  his  own  mind.  And  this  simplicity  of  state¬ 
ment  he  had  in  rare  perfection.  For  clearness  of 
statement  he  had  no  superior,  hardly  an  equal, 
amongst  the  great  men  of  our  country.  There  is  not 
a  phrase,  not  a  sentence,  scarcely  a  word — of  course 
I  except  those  Latin  quotations  with  which  he  was 
fond  of  garnishing  his  more  ambitious  discourses,  the 
use  of  which  in  another  might  be  called  pedantry, 
and  which  certainly  do  not  prove,  what  Sir  Charles 
Lyell,  who  heard  him  give  a  long  quotation  from 
Cicero  in  Faneuil  Hall,  supposed  they  did  prove,  the 
general  acquaintance  of  his  audience  with  the  foreign 
tongue ;  I  except  these,  and  perhaps  a  few  technical 
expressions  besides,  but  with  these  exceptions,  there 


256  A  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE,  CHARACTER, 

is  little  indeed  to  puzzle  or  perplex  a  reader  of  ordi¬ 
nary  intelligence. 

I  might  refer  you  to  a  number  of  his  arguments  on 
important  occasions  as  proof  of  this  averment.  A 
single  one  I  cannot  forbear  to  mention — that  in 
behalf  of  the  State  of  Rhode  Island  and  against  the 
rebellion  of  Dorr,  argued  before  the  United  States 
Supreme  Court.  It  is  not  only  one  of  the  most  con¬ 
vincing  and  conclusive,  but  one  of  the  most  beauti¬ 
fully  lucid  and  transparent  arguments  I  ever  read ; 
chaste,  simple,  flowing  on  in  an  unbroken  stream  of 
light — divested  of  all  learned  technicalities,  it  carries 
captive  the  understanding,  and  furnishes  delight  to 
the  heart  of  the  reader  least  acquainted  with  the 
law.  Ilis  argument  in  the  famed  murder  case  at 
Salem,  in  1830,  against  the  Knapps  and  Crowning- 
shields,  is  another  instance  of  lucid  statement,  mas¬ 
terly  arrangement  and  analysis,  and  the  power  of 
marshalling  detached  and  stubborn  and  apparently 
contradictory  circumstances  into  an  array  of  coherent 
and  convincing  proofs.  And  still  another,  is  the  last 
argument  which  he  ever  made  before  a  court — that 
in  the  great  India  Rubber  case  of  Goodyear.  All  the 
admirable  qualities  of  his  mind  stand  out  boldly  in 
that  speech,  though  delivered  at  the  age  of  three 
score  years  and  ten — an  age  at  which  most  men 


AND  SERVICES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


257 


crave  repose,  or  at  least  decline  tlie  severe  toil  requi¬ 
site  to  master  the  details  of  a  long  and  complicated 
case.  There  are  the  accurate  and  minute  knowledge 
—the  nice  discrimination — the  broad,  comprehensive 
view — the  powerful  logic — and  the  simple,  energetic 
language — expressing,  with  the  greatest  precision 
and  force,  exactly  what  he  meant  to  express  and 
nothing  more — unravelling  all  the  intricacies  of  the 
case — giving,  in  fact,  a  complete  history  not  only  of 
the  case,  but  the  natural  history  of  the  India  Rubber 
tree,  and  the  various  processes  which  have  marked 
the  manufacture  of  the  India  Rubber,  out  of  which 
the  long  controversy  arose.  It  is  not  marvellous  that 
he  should  have  taken  a  high  rank  in  his  profession, 
and  very  early  too.  Ho  wonder  that  his  services 
should  be  secured  in  conducting  the  most  momentous 
suits — and  that  from  beyond  the  sea,  not  less  than  in 
his  own  country,  his  powerful  aid  should  be  enlisted 
by  those  who  had  cases,  difficult,  perplexed,  involved, 
to  manage,  and  which  ordinary  abilities  might  fail  to 
disentangle  and  bring  to  a  favorable  issue. 

He  was  an  “  honorable  counsellor.”  These  words 
of  the  text  express  the  fact  in  his  case.  He  took  no 
unfair  advantage  of  his  adversaries.  He  was  igno¬ 
rant  of  the  little  arts  of  quibbling  and  subtle  twisting 
of  a  case  to  compass  his  own  ends.  He  scorned,  for 


258  A  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE,  CHARACTER, 

want  of  argument,  to  resort  to  the  perversions  of  the 
law,  to  disingenuous  artifices  by  which  the  worse 
might  be  made  to  appear  the  better  reason.  It  was 
all  open  and  above  board.  His  blows  were  down¬ 
right — struck  in  the  open  day — urged  home  and 
made  effective  by  sheer  force  of  logic — by  direct 
straightforward  argumentation,  that  defied  tricks 
and  subterfuges,  and  stood  in  the  manly  conscious¬ 
ness  of  its  strength.  He  made  the  law  appear  what 
it  is,  in  its  true  aspects,  a  noble  profession,  whose 
province  and  mission  it  is  to  guard  human  rights — 
shelter  the  oppressed — secure  the  privileges  of  the 
humblest  citizen — prevent  power  from  trampling  on 
weakness — prevent  crime  from  finding  impunity  in 
the  connivance  of  guilty  men,  or  the  false  sympathy 
of  misjudging  men.  He  knew  nothing  in  practice, 
and  despised  in  principle,  the  paltry  artifices  by 
which  the  law  is  turned  aside  and  cheated  of  its 
rightful  victim,  through  false  glosses,  through  leger¬ 
demain,  or  subtle  sophistry  of  a  class  of  advocates, 
somewhat  too  numerous  for  the  peace  and  well¬ 
being  of  society — and  who,  were  our  Lord  now 
on  earth,  would  be  sure  to  hear-  a  repetition  of  the 
withering  rebuke  ;  “Woe  unto  you,  lawyers,  for  ye 
lade  men  with  burdens  grievous  to  be  borne,  and  ye 
yourselves  touch  not  the  burdens  with  one  of  your 


AND  SERVICES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


259 


fingers.”  Webster  knew  nothing  in  practice  of  this. 
But  an  honorable  profession  derived  lustre  from  his 
having  espoused  and  followed  it.  He  was  a  true 
man,  and  could  not  stoop  to  what  he  knew  was  false, 
even  in  argument  for  a  client.  He  was  an  honorable 
man,  and  scorned  whatever  was  mean  and  disin¬ 
genuous,  as  derogating  from  an  honorable  profes¬ 
sion  and  his  own  self-respect.  He  has  illustrated  the 
law,  not  only  by  varied  learning,  profound  insight 
into  its  true  principles,  brilliant  and  powerful  advo¬ 
cacy,  and  arguments  which  will  never  die — but 
by  the  dignified  manners,  and  polite  tone  of  address 
and  intercourse,  which  he  never  laid  aside,  which 
favorably  struck  all  who  approached  or  were  associat¬ 
ed  with  him,  whose  influence  was  wholesome  while 
he  lived,  and  will  no  doubt  continue  to  do  good,  now 
that  his  place  is  vacant  in  the  courts  and  assemblies 
that  he  adorned. 

But  he  was  a  legislator  and  statesman  renowned, 
no  less  than  a  counsellor  of  confessed  power.  His 
country  would  not  suffer  him  to  pursue  the  congenial 
current  of  an  honored  profession  in  comparative 
retirement,  but  called  him  into  her  councils.  He 
appeared  upon  a  new  field  and  a  more  conspicuous 
arena.  He  was  surrounded  by  the  picked  men  of 
the  nation,  some  of  them  able  to  cope  in  argument 


260  A  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE,  CHARACTER, 

with  the  strongest,  others  no  way  remarkable  except 
as  holding  seats  there,  and  holding  seats  there  because 
they  had  been  chosen  and  commissioned  to  do  so. 
He  soon  became  one  of  the  most  noticeable  members 
there,  making  a  speech  at  an  early  day,  which  riveted 
the  attention  of  the  House,  and  elicited  the  applause 
and  prediction  of  coming  greatness,  of  that  profound 
jurist  and  exemplary  man,  Chief- Justice  Marshall— 
almost  a  guarantee  itself  of  the  truth  of  the  pre¬ 
diction.  I  cannot  pause  upon  his  course  in  this 
body.  It  was  throughout  “  honorable,”  and  esta¬ 
blished  his  reputation  as  one  of  the  largest  minds, 
closest  thinkers,  ablest  debaters,  wisest  and  truest 
legislators  in  the  country.  He  was  eight  years  here 
in  all,  and  then  passed  into  the  Senate  in  1827.  His 
whole  term  in  the  Senate  amounted  to  nineteen 
years.  The  continuity  of  his  Senatorial  term  was 
broken  by  his  being  called  to  take  charge  of  the 
State  Department  by  Gen.  Harrison,  an  office  which 
he  held  two  years.  He  occupied  the  same  responsible 
office  about  three  years  under  the  present  adminis¬ 
tration,  and  in  it,  at  his  post  of  duty,  death,  when  it 
came,  found  but  did  not  surprise  him. 

His  career  as  Senator  was  distinguished  and  bril¬ 
liant.  During  the  long  period  of  service  in  this  body, 
it  was  his  fortune  to  take  part  in  some  of  the  most 


AND  SERVICES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


261 


stirring  and  important  debates  which  have  ever  en¬ 
listed  the  attention  of  the  country — and  to  stand 
shoulder  to  shoulder  in  unison,  and  sometimes  face  to 
face  in  collision,  with  some  of  the  greatest  names  in 
the  distinguished  list  of  our  public  men.  The 
questions  of  the  Tariff,  the  Public  Lands,  States’ 
Lights  and  Nullification,  the  Ite-charter  of  the 
National  Bank,  the  Destruction  of  its  Charter,  the 
Removal  of  its  Deposits — a  feat  performed  by  one  of 
the  master  spirits  of  his  age — and  the  various 
questions  springing  out  of  this  exciting  controversy, 
were  all  prominent  during  his  Senatorial  term,  and 
were  discussed  by  him  with  an  earnestness,  copious¬ 
ness,  and  power,  with  a  dignity  of  manner  and 
weight  of  argument,  which  extorted  admiration  even 
from  stern  opponents,  and  raised  him  high  amongst 
the  great  masters  of  reasoning,  whom  the  world 
honors  and  venerates  through  all  its  ages.  In  the 
nullification  controversy — so  stormy  and  exciting — 
the  strong  arm  of  Gen.  Jackson  leaned  on  Webster 
for  support,  and  the  speech  delivered  by  him  on  that 
occasion,  conclusive  and  overwhelming,  went  very 
far  towards  settling  the  troubled  elements,  and  restor¬ 
ing  peace  to  the  distracted  councils  of  the  nation. 
This  speech,  which  gained  him  the  warm  thanks  of 
the  administration,  and  of  patriotic  persons  through- 


262  A  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE,  CHARACTER, 

* 

out  the  country — with  the  speech  in  reply  to  Hayne, 
delivered  three  years  before,  and  the  speech  on  the 
President’s  Protest — may  be  appealed  to  as  the  most 
lucid  and  cogent  exposition  of  the  true  principles  of 
constitutional  law  ever  delivered  in  the  Senate,  and 
well  entitles  him  to  be  called  jpar  excellence ,  as  he 
long  has  been  called,  and  probably  will  not  cease  to 
be  called,  “  the  great  Defender  of  the  Constitution.” 

His  distinction  is  hardly  less  high  and  honorable 
as  a  diplomatist.  The  Ashburton  treaty,  as  it  is 
called,  was  made  in  1842 — a  treaty  which  in  itself 
is  enough  to  establish  the  fame  of  Webster  immov¬ 
ably,  had  he  achieved  nothing  besides.  A  difficulty 
of  sixty  years’  standing — complex,  greatly  intricate, 
embracing  varied  and  adverse  interests — menacing 
the  peace  of  the  country — threatening  to  bring  upon 
us  the  horrors  of  war  with  the  nation  from  which  we 
sprang,  and  hence  regarded  with  trembling  anxiety 
by  citizens  of  all  sections,  was  quietly  and  perfectly 
adjusted  through  the  skill  and  genius  of  our  great 
negotiator,  in  conjunction  with  the  worthy  represen¬ 
tative  of  England,  to  the  infinite  relief  and  joy  of 
both  countries.  This  was  a  master-stroke  of  sagacity 
and  statesmanship,  and  it  may  well  be  doubted 
whether  any  other  man  amongst  us  could  have 
effected  the  desired  consummation.  England,  at 


AND  SERVICES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


263 


least,  thought  so.  Ashburton  thought  so,  and  so 
thought,  and  still  think,  many  of  our  most  sagacious 
and  deep-musing  citizens.  His  letter  on  the  Right 
of  Search,  his  letter  on  the  Creole  case,  and  his  let¬ 
ter  to  the  Chevalier  Hulseman,  hear  all  of  them  the 
stamp  of  the  consummate  statesman,  and  demon¬ 
strate  that  the  helm  of  the  ship  of  state  was  in  the 
hands  of  the  most  courageous,  dexterous,  and  reliable 
of  pilots.  The  last  letter,*  that  to  the  arrogant  Aus¬ 
trian,  is  a  masterpiece  of  its  class,  and  has  secured  a 
world- wide  applause  and  fame.  For  clear  statement, 
convincing  argument,  triumphant  exposition  of  inter¬ 
national  law,  for  dignified  rebuke  of  unwarrantable 
pretension,  and  for  calm,  energetic  determination  to 
submit  to  nothing  that  is  wrong,  and  to  maintain 
what  is  clearly  right  at  every  hazard,  it  is  a  state 
paper  which  the  annals  of  diplomacy  can  hardly 
parallel.  Other  acts  of  creditable  management  in 
this  department  I  might  name,  but  I  pass  them  by, 
along  with  those  whose  development  and  completion 
were  interrupted  by  the  great  man’s  death,  and 

*  At  the  time  this  Discourse  was  delivered,  there  had  arisen  no 
question  as  to  the  authorship  of  this  extraordinary  state  paper.  As 
the  paper  bears  the  marks  of  Mr.  W.’s  mind,  I  shall  not  alter  the 
text,  though  the  merit  of  its  preparation  be  no  longer  ascribed  ex¬ 
clusively  to  him. 


264  A  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE,  CHARACTER, 

which,  of  course,  are  not  now  a  fair  subject  either  of 
criticism  or  analysis,  of  praise  or  blame. 

I  pass  to  notice  him  as  what  the  text  describes, 
u  the  eloquent  orator.”  He  who  can  command  and 
sway  an  audience  at  will,  and  bend  them  to  his 
words,  must  needs  be  a  remarkable  man.  This  rare 
faculty  has  ever  been  with  men  the  theme  of  admira¬ 
tion,  and  they  who  have  possessed  it  in  an  extraordi¬ 
nary  degree,  have  been  sure  of  a  perpetuated  remem¬ 
brance.  The  great  orators  of  antiquity  are  familiar 
names  to  us ;  and  those  whose  eloquence  has  been 
exerted  for  beneficent  ends,  have,  and  deserve,  our 
love  and  veneration.  Oratory  and  eloquence  are 
of  different  kinds  and  degrees.  Ho  two  orators 
hardly  resemble  each  other  in  the  qualities  which 
constitute  their  chief  strength.  Calhoun,  Clay, 
"Webster — that  splendid  triumvirate,  whose  names 
are  household  words,  the  mention  of  which  opens 
before  us  many  an  intensely  interesting  page  of  our 
past  history,  upon  which  we  gaze  with  tearful  eye — 
were  all  orators,  and  each  had  his  own  peculiarities 
of  address,  of  style,  of  manner — differing  from  each 
other,  and  yet  each  forcible  and  at  times  command¬ 
ing,  and  even  overwhelming.  Calhoun’s  diction  was 
chaste  and  nervous — his  periods  in  his  more  elabo¬ 
rate  performances  admirably  rounded — his  reasoning 


AND  SERVICES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


265 


close,  compact,  forming  a  burnished  chain,  each  link 
of  which  seemed  beautifully  adapted  to  its  place 
and  use — his  countenance  deeply  earnest,  in  severity 
of  outline  approaching  to  sternness,  yet  alive  and 
glowing  in  debate,  expressed  as  well  by  his  vehe¬ 
ment  gesticulation  as  by  his  fiery  eye  and  speaking 
features,  and  a  voice  sharp  and  harsh  at  times,  which 
in  moments  of  great  excitement  poured  itself  forth 
in  a  perfect  torrent  and  tempest  of  impassioned 
words.  Grant  him  his  premises,  and  let  who  can 
escape  from  his  conclusions.  Clay  had  a  blander 
physiognomy,  and  won,  as  he  rose,  by  the  ease  and 
grace  of  his  manner,  and  the  suavity  of  his  tones,  the 
favorable  opinion  of  his  hearers — until,  as  he  went 
on,  warming  with  his  subject,  the  whole  man  seemed 
to  undergo  a  change  ;  his  tall  person  grew  taller — his 
eye  seemed  to  kindle  and  emit  sparks — his  voice 
clear,  sonorous,  and  capable  of  running  with  the 
utmost  facility  over  the  whole  gamut  of  sounds, 
swelled  and  rang  until  its  clarion  tones  electrified  his 
hearers,  while  not  only  every  feature,  but  hands, 
arms,  shoulders,  sides,  the  whole  body,  as  Cicero  says 
of  Mark  Antony,*  seemed  instinct  with  the  senti- 

*  “  G-estus  erat  non  verba  exprimens  sed  cum  sententiis  congru- 
ens,  manus,  humeri,  latera,  supplosio  pedis,  status,  incessus  omnis- 
que,  motus  cum  verbis  et  sententiis  consentiens.”- — Cic.  Brutus. 

12 


266  A  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE,  CHARACTER, 

ments  he  would  express,  and  conspired  to  pour  these 
sentiments  into  the  minds  and  hearts  of  his  audience. 
Webster  had  greater  calmness  than  either.  He  was 
the  most  deliberate  of  speakers — expressing  himself 
in  measured  sentences,  each  word  of  which  occupied 
its  own  place,  perfectly  fitting  there.  Ilis  voice  was 
deep-toned,  but  not  unmusical,  well  adapted  for  his 
sinewy  Anglo-Saxon  words  and  vigorous  thoughts. 
He  had  a  more  majestic  presence  than  either — grave, 
thoughtful,  dignified,  without  being  stern  or  over¬ 
bearing.  A  manifest 

“  Grace  was  seated  on  liis  brow” — 

to  whicn  also  was  joined 

“  An  eye,  like  Mars,  to  threaten  and  command — 

A  combination  and  a  form,  indeed, 

Where  every  god  did  seem  to  set  his  seal, 

To  give  the  world  assurance  of  a  man.” 

Except  when  excited,  which  was  seldom,  he  had 
little  action ;  an  occasional  gesture  with  the  right 
hand  being  all  that  he  displayed.  And  even  this,  in 
his  arguments  before  the  courts,  he  was  wont  to  dis¬ 
pense  with  almost  entirely ;  standing  erect  and  statue- 
like,  his  keen  deep-set  eye  glancing,  his  speaking 
countenance  and  distinct  voice,  with  an  occasional 


AND  SERVICES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


267 


emphatic  inclination  of  his  body,  being  all  that  he 
used  to  enforce  his  arguments.  And  yet  with  less  of 
action*  posterity  may  regard  him  as  the  truest  orator 
of  the  three — the  greatest  orator,  perhaps,  of  our 
times.  Less  vehement  and  declamatory  than  either 
of  the  others,  less  likely  on  ordinary  occasions  to 
sway  and  captivate  a  promiscuous  crowd  than  the 
orator  of  the  West,  he  had  more  breadth  of  view, 
and  more  truthful  logic  than  Calhoun,  more  com¬ 
pactness  and  solidity  than  Clay,  and  more  than 
either  of  these  great  men  of  that  rare  power  of 
thought — instantly  striking  from  its  truthfulness,  and 
diction  admirably  fitted  to  express  it,  which  takes 
the  understanding  captive,  and,  through  it,  the  heart, 
impressing  itself  long  after  the  voice  of  the  speaker 
has  ceased  to  be  heard.  Many  mistake  declamation 
for  oratory,  a  boisterous  or  impetuous  manner  for 
eloquence.  He,  it  strikes  us,  is  the  true  orator,  who 
produces  not  the  greatest  present,  but  the  most 
lasting,  effects  in  the  right  direction.  And  that  is 
true  eloquence,  be  the  speaker’s  manner  what  it 

*  The  “noble,  sublime,  godlike  action,”  which  Mr.  Webster 
speaks  of  in  his  great  eulogy  on  Adams  and  Jefferson,  as  superior 
to  the  tricks  of  gesture,  of  language,  or  of  rhetorical  decoration, 
is,  it  need  scarce  be  remarked,  a  very  different  affair  from  the 
action  of  the  declaimer. 


268  A  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE,  CHARACTER, 

may,  which  most  deeply  impresses  what  is  true  upon 
the  minds  of  an  audience.  As  W ebster  has  himself 
said  on  one  occasion,  “  there  is  nothing  valuable  but 
truth ,  truth ,  truth.  It  is  not  glossary  or  commentary 
that  is  valuable — it  is  not  that  thing  called  eloquence, 
never  of  the  greatest  value,  and  often  mischievous, 
but  it  is  that  which  can  stand  the  test  of  time  and 
eternity  alone — truth”  And  judged  by  both  these 
tests,  immediate  impression  and  effect,  and  truth , 
more  valuable  than  this,  and  whose  influence  abides, 
Webster  has  combined  them,  at  least  on  one  memo¬ 
rable  occasion,  and  more  signally  than  either  of  his 
renowned  contemporaries.  Ilis  reply  to  Hayne  is 
no  less  truthful  than  its  present  effect  was  electric.- 
That  single  master  speech  combines  wit,  humor,  rail¬ 
lery,  powerful  sarcasm,  withering  scorn,  overwhelm¬ 
ing  invective,  apposite  illustration,  convincing  logic, 
touching  pathos,  and  splendid  outbursts  of  patriotic 
eloquence  in  one  magnificent  whole.  Where,  among 
all  our  parliamentary  records,  are  we  to  look  for  its 
peer?  So  good  a  judge  as  Edward  Everett  said  of 
the  manner  of  it,  that  it  realized  to  him  more  com¬ 
pletely  what  Demosthenes  in  his  great  Oration  for 
the  Crown  must  have  been  than  any  other  speech  he 
had  ever  heard,  and  he  had  heard  the  most  famous 
orators  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic.  Its  instant 


AND  SERVICES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


269 


effect  was  indeed  overpowering.  The  silence  of 
death  rested  npon  the  crowded  Senate  Chamber 
after  the  thrilling  words  of  that  magnificent  perora¬ 
tion,  which  every  schoolboy  has  by  heart,  had 
closed ;  and  hands  remained  clasped,  and  faces  fixed 
and  rigid,  and  eyes  tearful,  while  the  sharp  rap  of 
the  President’s  hammer  could  hardly  awaken  the 
audience  from  the  trance  into  which  the  orator  had 
thrown  them.  Were  his  character  and  rank  as  an 
orator  to  be  gauged  by  this  single  effort,  I  suppose 
the  verdict  of  men  would  not  be  doubtful  or  much 
discordant. 

The  verdict  to  the  high  merit  of  this  famous 
speech — which  Mr.  Webster,  I  believe,  regarded  as 
his  masterpiece — is  well-nigh  unanimous,  nor  is  the 
judgment  ever  likely  to  be  set  aside.  It  possesses 
an  interest  and  importance  reaching  far  beyond  the 
occasion  that  called  it  forth.  It  enunciates  principles 
with  the  love  and  maintenance  of  which,  every  most 
cherished  good  for  the  present,  and  every  hope  for 
the  future  of  the  country,  is  interwoven.  It  breathes 
a  broad  national  spirit,  a  tone  of  lofty  patriotism, 
which  finds  a  vibrating  cord  in  every  true  heart,  and 
will  find  it  there,  till  the  mad  passions  of  men  shall 
have  seared  the  bosom  so,  that  liberty  and  union 
themselves  will  no  longer  be  words  to  awaken  a 


270  A  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE,  CHARACTER, 

rejoicing  echo.  It  were  not  easy,  amid  such  a  clus¬ 
ter  of  singularly  suggestive  and  eloquent  passages,  to 
point  to  a  single  one  finer  and  more  suggestive  than 
the  rest.  Each  reader  will  have  his  preferences,  were 
such  choice  to  he  made,  and  hardly  two  perhaps 
might  he  found  entirely  accordant.  For  myself,  I 
find  nothing  in  the  speech  that  excites  higher  admi¬ 
ration  than  the  following  noble  sentiments : — 

“  I  shall  not  acknowledge  that  the  honorable 
member  goes  before  me  in  regard  for  whatever  of 
distinguished  talent  or  distinguished  character,  South 
Carolina  has  produced.  I  claim  part  of  the  honor,  I 
partake  in  the  pride,  of  her  great  names.  I  claim 
them  for  countrymen,  one  and  all,  the  Laurenses,  the 
Pinkneys,  the  Sumpters,  the  Marions,  Americans  all, 
whose  fame  is  no  more  to  be  hemmed  in  by  State 
lines,  than  their  talent  and  patriotism  were  capable  of 
being  circumscribed  within  the  same  narrow  limits. 
In  their  day  and  generation  they  served  and  honored 
the  country,  and  the  whole  country ;  and  their  renown 
is  of  the  treasures  of  the  whole  country.  Him  whose 
honored  name  the  gentleman  himself  bears- — does  he 
esteem  me  less  capable  of  gratitude  for  his  patriotism, 
or  sympathy  for  his  sufferings,  than  if  his  eyes  had 
first  opened  upon  the  light  of  Massachusetts,  instead  of 
South  Carolina  ?  Sir,  does  he  suppose  it  in  his  power  to 


AND  SERVICES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


271 


exhibit  a  Carolina  name  so  bright  as  to  prodnce  envy 
in  my  bosom  ?  No,  sir,  increased  gratification  and 
delight  rather.  I  thank  God,  that  if  I  am  gifted 
with  little  of  the  spirit  which  is  able  to  raise  mor¬ 
tals  to  the  skies,  I  have  yet  none,  as  I  trust,  of  that 
other  spirit  which  would  drag  angels  down.  When 
I  shall  be  found,  sir,  in  my  place  here  in  the  Senate, 
or  elsewhere,  to  sneer  at  public  merit,  because  it 
happens  to  spring  up  beyond  the  little  limits 
of  my  own  State  or  neighborhood ;  when  I  refuse 
for  any  such  cause,  or  for  any  cause,  the  homage  due 
to  American  talent,  to  elevated  patriotism,  to  sincere 
devotion,  to  liberty  and  the  country ;  or  if  I  see  an 
uncommon  endowment  of  heaven,  if  I  see  extraordi¬ 
nary  capacity  and  virtue,  in  any  son  of  the  South,  and 
if  moved  by  local  prejudice  or  gangrened  by  State 
jealousy,  I  get  up  here  to  abate  the  tithe  of  a  hair 
from  his  just  character  and  just  fame,  may  my  tongue 
cleave  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth.” 

The  spirit  of  these  words  is  so  manly  and  catholic, 
there  is  such  a  serious  and  convincing  truthfulness 
about  them,  such  deep-toned  national  feeling,  such 
tender  regard  for  the  honor  of  the  commonwealth,  as 
identified  with  the  honor  of  its  highest  names,  such 
withering  rebuke  of  sectionalism,  which  would  mea¬ 
sure  out  desert  to  States  or  individuals  according  to 


272  A  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE,  CHARACTER, 

their  geography  or  associations,  and  institute  odious 
comparisons  between  them,  such  touching  allusion  to 
the  obligations  which  the  present  owes  to  the  past, 
and  to  the  fraternal  spirit  and  united  effort  which 
made  the  men  and  achievements  of  the  past  heroic, 
and  withal  such  a  revealing  on  the  part  of  the 
speaker  of  a  large,  unselfish,  magnanimous  heart — 
that  the  passage  is  ever  invested  to  my  eye  with 
exceeding  impressiveness  and  beauty.  The  voice 
uttering  such  sentiments  takes  every  generous  bosom 
captive,  drowns  all  dissonant,  disorganizing  voices 
lifted  against  it.  The  orator  expands  before  us  till 
he  occupies  the  whole  foreground,  and  his  adversary 
dwindles  so  that  for  the  time  he  grows  almost 
invisible. 

But  I  hasten  to  remark  that  Mr.  "Webster’s  elo¬ 
quence  was  eminently  patriotic.  He  annihilated 
Hayne  and  his  nullification  doctrines  together — • 
showed  that  the  Union  must  be  preserved — that 
without  union  all  that  our  fathers  fought  for,  all  that 
their  children  inherited,  prized,  and  enjoyed,  was 
lost.  His  arguments  appealed  to  the  understanding 
and  heart  of  the  country,  and  were  greeted  with  a 
general  outburst  of  acceptance  and  favor.  The 
public  mind  has  pretty  much  settled  down  upon  the 
views  of  the  Constitution  as  then  presented,  and  as 


AND  SERVICES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


273 


they  were  expanded  and  enforced  by  him  on  subse¬ 
quent  occasions.  The  benefit  resulting  to  the  whole 
country  from  these  great  efforts  is  incalculable,  can 
hardly  be  over-estimated.  They  well  entitle  him  to 
the  gratitude  of  all  classes  of  citizens,  and  no  doubt 
he  will  receive  it  from  children’s  children,  while 
our  annals  continue  to  be  swelled  by  the  rolling 
years. 

But  these  strong,  well-aimed  blows,  struck  for  the 
Constitution  and  the  laws,  are  not  the  only  evidences 
of  his  patriotism.  His  whole  life,  all  his  public  acts, 
all  his  recorded  sentiments  on  questions  of  public 
interest,  have  about  them  an  “  odor  of  nationality.” 
His  great  centenary  discourse  on  “  Forefathers’  Hay,” 
at  Plymouth,  in  1820 — his  matchless  eulogy  on 
Adams  and  Jefferson,  in  1826 — his  suggestive  and 
eloquent  orations,  at  the  laying  of  the  corner-stone 
of  the  Bunker  Hill  Monument,  and  at  the  completion 
of  that  commemorative  work — and  his  oration  on  the 
4th  of  July,  1851,  at  the  laying  of  the  corner-stone 
of  the  extension  of  the  National  Capitol,  are,  seve¬ 
rally  and  together,  instinct  with  broad  nationality, 
and  may  be  appealed  to  as  models  of  that  species  of 
discourse  whose  electric  glow  of  patriotic  feeling  is 
communicated  to  each  reader,  stirring  the  heart  to 
its  deepest  depths,  and  nerving  it  to  court  martyr- 

12* 


274  A  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE,  CHARACTER, 

dom  for  tlie  country’s  cause,  honor,  and  happiness. 
On  the  last  of  these  occasions  he  felicitously  and 
touchingly  apostrophizes  Washington,  who  had  been 
present  when  the  first  corner-stone  was  laid  with 
kindred  solemnities,  but  under  circumstances  how 
widely  different.  The  orator’s  sorcery  causes  the 
scene  to  rise  before  us  in  all  its  vividness.  We 
behold  Washington  cross  the  stream  on  a  fallen  tree 
which  bridges  it,  and  heading  a  short  procession, 
ascend  the  eminence  then  covered  with  original 
oaks,  beneath  whose  shade  the  ceremony  of  laying 
the  corner-stone  of  a  young  nation’s  Capitol,  was  to 
take  place.  We  see  him  looking  with  grave  benig¬ 
nity  upon  the  scene  then  presented,  and  with  the 
lineaments  of  his  countenance  softened  by  concern 
and  anxiety,  we  seem  to  hear  the  solemn  tones  of 
voice,  bidding  his  countrymen  u  preserve  the  Union 
of  the  States,  cemented,  as  it  has  been,  by  our  pray¬ 
ers,  our  tears,  and  our  blood.” 

All  these  addresses,  and  many  kindred  ones,  are 
replete  with  sage  counsels,  with  deeply  earnest  and 
significant  admonitions,  and  are  fragrant,  redolent, 
to  use  his  own  words,  with  love  of  country.  lie 
was  emulous,  indeed,  to  tread  in  the  footsteps  of 
Washington.  He  proposed  Washington’s  great  ex¬ 
ample  as  one  which  all  should  look  up  to,  and  strive 


AND  SERVICES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


275 


to  follow.  Washington’s  name  to  liim  was  a  tower 
of  strength.  On  one  of  the  occasions  referred  to,  I 
heard  him  say,  that  “in  all  times  of  doubt  and  de¬ 
spondency,  of  danger  and  gloom,  I  turn  to  that 
transcendent  name  for  support  and  consolation.” 
On  another  occasion,  he  declared  with  no  less  em¬ 
phasis,  “  I  go  back  every  day  of  my  life  to  the  model 
of  Washington’s  administration.  And  I  say  to  you 
here,  to-night,  were  I  to  draw  the  character  of  a  Pre¬ 
sident,  such  as  W asliington,  were  he  on  earth,  would 
approve,  Washington  himself  should  stand  before 
me,  and  I  would  copy  his  master-strokes  and  imitate 
his  designs.”  And  on  still  another  occasion :  “K  I 
were  to  exhibit  the  spirit  of  the  Constitution,  in  its 
living,  speaking,  animated  form,  I  would  refer  always, 
always,  to  the  administration  of  the  first  President, 
George  Washington.  And  if  I  were  now  to  describe 
a  patriot  President — I  would  present  his  picture 
before  me  as  a  constant  study — I  would  present  his 
policy,  alike  liberal,  just,  narrowed  down  to  no  sec¬ 
tional  interests,  bound  to  no  personal  objects,  held  to 
no  locality,  but  broad,  and  generous,  and  open — as 
expansive  as  the  air  which  is  wafted  by  the  winds 
of  heaven  from  one  part  of  the  country  to  another.” 

He  did  not  content  himself  with  following  in  the 
footsteps  of  Washington  afar  off,  with  gazing  at  a 


27 6  A  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE,  CHARACTER, 

distance  upon  the  majestic  and  awful  countenance, 
which  reflected  truth,  honor,  firmness,  incorruptible 
virtue,  the  rare  union  of  noble  qualities  forming  the 
soldier,  hero,  patriot,  statesman,  sage,  meeting  and 
blending  in  him  in  beautiful  equipoise  and  harmony. 
It  was  not  enough  for  him  to  look  at  these  from  afar, 
dimly  and  in  outline.  He  was  anxious  to  get  close 
up  to  his  object  and  model,  to  gain  a  position  and 
hold  it,  whence  he  could  peruse  and  study,  feature 
by  feature  and  lineament  by  lineament.  He  sought 
to  stand,  and  did  stand,  where  he  could  scan  and 
learn  each  trait  and  peculiarity  of  that  marvellous 
character,  which  has  drawn  to  itself  not  only  the  ad¬ 
miration  and  reverence,  but  the  love  of  mankind. 
He  strove  to  analyse,  and  did  analyse,  the  constitu¬ 
ent  elements  which  had  produced  so  grand  a  combi¬ 
nation  of  human  excellence.  He  gazed  till  he  saw 
standing  out  before  his  mind’s  eye,  in  living  charac¬ 
ters  of  light,  the  prudence  and  energy,  the  coolness 
and  courage  of  the  patriot  soldier,  undaunted  by 
dangers,  unbroken  by  reverses  or  disasters,  cheerful 
when  others  were  despondent,  hopeful  when  the  more 
timid  and  less  sagacious  had  given  over  all  for  lost, 
and  pressing  forward  toward  his  object  with  a 
tenacity  of  purpose  which  forced  the  sternest  ob¬ 
stacles  to  yield,  and  wrenched  abiding  victory  from 


AND  SERVICES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


277 


the  very  jaws  of  defeat.  He  saw  with  increasing 
admiration  the  same  great  qualities  adorning  the 
council  chamber  and  the  chair  of  the  nation’s  Chief 
Magistrate,  adapted  as  ever  to  a  new  position  and 
other  trusts  and  emergencies — the  intuitive  sagacity 
with  which  counsellors  and  aids  were  called  around 
him — the  passport  to  his  own  confidence  and  ground 
of  their  elevation  being  fitness,  honor,  trustworthi¬ 
ness,  and  nothing  else — the  breadth  of  his  views, 
looking  to  the  rights  and  welfare  of  his  country  and 
every  part  of  it,  and  in  defence,  and  for  the  pro¬ 
motion  of  these,  pursuing  a  course  steady  as  that  of 
the  sun  in  the  heavens,  as  little  overawed  by  threats 
from  abroad  as  disturbed  by  excitements  or  animosi¬ 
ties  at  home — determined  to  be  just  and  to  render 
justice  to  all,  and  to  require  nothing  more  and  ac¬ 
cept  nothing  less  from  others,  infusing  the  spirit  of 
this  principle  into  all  associated  with  him,  and  desir¬ 
ing  and  laboring  to  diffuse  it  through  all  the  branches 
of  government,  and  every  ramification  of  society — 
merging  party  in  his  country’s  cause — loving  his 
country  with  a  father’s  yearning  tenderness  toward 
his  only  child :  watchful  of  its  interests,  jealous  of  its 
honor,  fearful  of  the  dangers  that  might  be  lurking 
to  harm  it,  and  the  more  to  be  dreaded  because  un¬ 
seen  and  unsuspected — lifting  up  a  warning  voice 


278  A  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE,  CHARACTER, 

against  these  dangers,  inculcating  the  love  of  the 
country  as  a  whole  and  never  to  divided — the  love 
of  its  institutions,  the  cultivation  of  the  sentiment  of 
nationality  in  its  broadest  sense,  as  bulwarks  equally 
against  foreign  foes  and  intestine  discord,  and  point¬ 
ing  to  the  inseparable  connexion  between  God’s 
smiles  and  public  and  individual  justice,  and  virtue, 
and  a  nation’s  true  progress,  prosperity,  and  happi¬ 
ness. 

These  were  among  the  qualities  which  made 
Washington  a  model  President  to  Webster,  and  his 
administration  a  model  administration.  He  gazed 
upon  and  studied  his  model  so  constantly  and  closely, 
that  he  became  imbued  with  the  living  spirit  which 
it  breathed.  In  his  love  of  the  Constitution,  the 
noblest  charter  that  the  associative  wisdom  of  patriot 
sages  ever  formed  for  the  government  of  a  people — 
in  his  love  of  the  Federal  Union,  whose  existence  he 
regarded  as  interwoven  with  the  healthy  life  and  in¬ 
tegrity  of  the  Constitution — in  his  broad  and  liberal 
nationality,  which  looked  ever  to  the  rights,  the  in¬ 
terests,  the  welfare  of  the  whole  country  and  every 
part — in  his  sensitive  sympathy  with  the  national 
honor,  and  the  sacrifices  he  stood  ever  ready  to  make 
to  preserve  it  untarnished — in  his  jealousy  of  the 
agitations,  the  effect  of  which  might  be  to  shake, 


AND  SERVICES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


279 


to  undermine,  to  impair  confidence  in  establish¬ 
ed  law  and  order — in  bis  reverence  for  tbe  Great 
Ruler  of  nations,  and  tbe  Christian  institutes,  wliose 
influence  on  public  morals,  on  social  and  national 
peace  and  welfare,  none  has  recognised  more  uni¬ 
formly  and  earnestly  than  be — we  see  tbe  master  at 
whose  feet  be  bad  sat  as  a  learner,  and  tbe  fruits 
which  bis  docility  and  diligence  bore.  By  bis  senti¬ 
ments  and  course  on  such  high  matters  as  these,  be 
evinces  how  closely  be  followed  in  the  path  trodden 
by  bis  illustrious  guide  and  exemplar' — bow  constant 
and  powerful  was  tbe  influence  exerted  on  him  by 
tbe  life  and  principles  of  the  great  Pater  Patriae. 

His  speech  on  March  7th,  1850,  on  tbe  Compro¬ 
mise  Measures,  lias  been  loudly  condemned  in  certain 
quarters  as  unpatriotic,  and  at  variance  with  bis 
former  opinions  and  course.  I  have  never  been  able 
to  take  this  view  of  it.  That  speech  was,  as  usual, 
limpid  as  a  brook,  and  of  signal  power  in  its  influ¬ 
ence  all  over  the  country.  His  abolition  enemies 
love  him  none  the  more,  certainly,  that  this  speech, 
so  widely  circulated,  was  so  convincing  and  effective. 
What  did  be  set  forth  in  it?  Among  other  things, 
that  there  was  portentous  agitation  of  the  slavery 
question,  and  that  the  stability  of  the  Union  required 
that  this  agitation  should  be  allayed — that  the  Slave 


280  A  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE,  CHARACTER, 

States  had  greatly  changed  their  opinion  on  slavery 
since  the  adoption  of  the  Constitution — that  from  re¬ 
garding  slavery  as  a  “blight,  a  blast,  a  scourge,  a 
mildew,  a  curse,”  as  their  own  most  enlightened  and 
trusted  citizens  formerly  regarded  it,  they  had  come 
to  look  upon  it  rather  as  a  social  and  political  bless¬ 
ing  than  otherwise,  and  that  this  great  change  of 
view  was  produced  by  the  great  increase  of  cotton 
exportation — the  quantity  exported  in  1790  being 
only  in  value  some  forty  or  fifty  thousand  dollars, 
whereas  now  it  amounts  to  over  one  hundred  millions 
yearly.  The  truth  of  these  statements  will  hardly 
be  denied.  Then  he  sets  forth,  that  personally  he 
had  warmly  opposed  the  annexation  of  Texas — op¬ 
posed  it  early,  opposed  it  steadily,  and  opposed  it  to 
the  end — opposed  it  on  the  ground  that  we  had  terri¬ 
tory  enough,  and  of  slave  territory  quite  too  much, 
already.  ITe  proceeds  to  show  that  Texas  was  an¬ 
nexed  by  free-soil  Northern  votes,  especially  by  those 
in  the  Senate,  of  Mr.  Dix  of  New  York,  and  Mr. 
Niles  of  Connecticut — that  it  was  annexed,  knowing 
that  it  must  come  in  as  a  slave  State,  and  not  only 
so,  but  annexed  with  the  express  stipulation  that 
whenever  population  allowed,  four  new  slave  States — • 
electing  to  become  such — should  also  be  admitted  on 
their  application  into  the  Union.  This  was  the  stipu- 


AND  SERVICES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


281 


lation,  tlie  law,  which  Mr.  Webster  considered  irre- 
pealable,  and  to  the  carrying  out  of  which  the  good 
faith  of  the  government  was  solemnly  pledged.  He 
had  spoken  and  voted  against  the  admission  of  Texas, 
hut  now  that  she  was  admitted,  and  by  northern 
votes  too,  he  contended  for  the  honorable  observance 
of  the  stipulations.  He  was  unwilling  to  evade  the 
law,  get  round  the  stipulation,  by  applying  a  test 
which  was  not  contained  in  it,  but  would  render  the 
law  in  fact  nugatory  and  void.  He  stood  upon  the 
faithful  observance  of  laws,  of  treaties  and  compacts, 
to  be  religiously  observed  between  parties,  which¬ 
ever  might  prove  the  sufferer.  He  regarded  the 
principle  to  be  one  of  the  most  momentous  character, 
and  that  to  swerve  from  it  in  a  single  instance  might 
endanger  the  stability  of  our  institutions. 

In  regard  to  California  and  Hew  Mexico,  he  con¬ 
sidered  slavery  excluded  from  both  by  the  law  of 
nature,  of  physical  geography,  and  was  unwilling 
“  to  re-affirm  an  ordinance  of  nature  or  re-enact  the 
will  of  God.”  The  entrance  of  slavery  into  either  he 
regarded  as  an  impossibility,  and  a  proviso  decree¬ 
ing  its  exclusion,  besides  being  uttterly  superfluous, 
must  operate  as  a  taunt  and  reproach  to  the  South, 
and  that  taunt  and  reproach  he  was  not  willing  to 
utter  and  promulgate  by  his  vote.  His  prophetic 


282  A  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE,  CHARACTER, 

words,  if  I  may  call  them  such,  have  been  fully  veri¬ 
fied.  California  lias  come  in  as  a  free  State ;  and 
there  is  no  slavery,  besides  peonage,  in  New  Mexico. 
And  what  may  seem  strange  in  the  history  of  this 
transaction,  but  not  so  strange  after  all  as  it  is 
lamentable,  is  found  in  these  words  of  Mr.  Webster 
himself:  “  Of  all  the  papers  that  reviled  me  so  much 
and  so  violently  for  affirming  there  was  no  necessity 
for  applying  the  Wilmot  Proviso  to  New  Mexico,  there 
is  not  one  of  them  that  has  taken  back  the  charge, 
when  they  saw  the  truth  of  my  assertion  verified  by 
facts.  Did  they  say,  ‘Webster  was  right  and  we 
wrong  V  No ;  not  one  of  them.”  This  declaration  con¬ 
tains  its  own  commentary. 

Then  as  to  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law.*  No  humane 
person  approves  of  it  in  the  abstract,  any  more  than 
of  the  slavery  out  of  which  it  sprang.  Our  sympa¬ 
thies  are  spontaneously  against  it,  and  with  the  hap¬ 
less  fugitive.  Our  hearts  would  gladly  afford  him 
shelter,  and  food,  and  apparel,  and  money,  and  a 
passport,  with  a  “God  speed”  to  encourage  him,  to 
get  quickly  into  a  land  where  he  is  free  from  the 
possibility  of  wearing  manacles.  But  there  is  the 
Constitution — the  highest  law  in  the  land.  It  de- 


*  See  Appendix  B. 


AND  SERVICES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


283 


dares  tliat  persons  bound  to  service  in  one  State, 
tinder  tlie  laws  thereof,  escaping  into  another,  shall 
not  be  discharged  therefrom,  bnt  shall  be  delivered 
np  to  the  person  to  whom  such  service  is  due.  There 
is  the  supreme  law,  explicit,  unmistakable,  to  which 
we  owe  allegiance  and  fealty.  That  law  must  be  a 
dead  letter,  and  the  rights  of  those  for  whose  benefit 
it  was  more  particularly  framed,  negatived  and  lost, 
if  the  moment  a  slave  steps  upon  free  soil,  he  be¬ 
comes,  through  northern  sympathy  and  adroitness, 
wholly  irreclaimable  by  those  from  whom  he  has 
fled.  To  a  slave,  the  crossing  of  a  State  line  becomes 
thus  the  castle  of  his  safety  and  earnest  of  his  free¬ 
dom — and  the  failure  of  an  opportunity  to  escape,  is 
the  chief  security  to  the  owner  of  slaves  that  he  shall 
continue  to  hold  his  own.  How  what  shall  be  done  ? 
Shall  the  Constitution  be  kept  intact,  or  shall  it  be 
violated,  or  its  violation  connived  at  and  promoted  ? 
That  is  the  question.  Mr.  Webster  thought  the 
former,  and  acted  as  he  thought.  He  was  for 
keeping  honor  and  good  faith  with  the  South,  as 
with  every  other  section.  He  advocated  the  Fugi¬ 
tive  Slave  Law,  because  he  conceived  that  law 
to  guard  the  rights  of  the  South  under  the  Consti¬ 
tution,  and  to  deprive  no  section  of  its  rights.  The 
law  is  not  perfect,  Mr.  Webster  saw  and  acknow- 


284  A  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE,  CHARACTER, 

ledged,  and  had  he  not  been  called  ont  of  the  Senate, 
he  meant  to  have  introduced  amendments  to  it.  As 
it  is,  the  law  is  constitutional,  and  by  convincing  the 
South  of  the  intention  of  the  North  to  maintain  good 
faith  with  them,  has  tended  strongly  to  allay  excite¬ 
ment  and  agitation.  In  advocating  that  law,  Mr. 
Webster  simply  stood  wdiere  he  had  always  stood, 
where  he  could  not  hut  stand,  by  the  Constitution  of 
his  country ;  and  in  preferring  social  order  to  chaos, 
law  to  anarchy  and  revolution,  has  furnished  ad¬ 
ditional  proof  of  his  consistent  patriotism.  While  as 
to  the  allegation  of  his  being  sold  to  the  South — of 
his  speaking  and  acting  as  he  did  for  the  paltry  con¬ 
sideration,  the  base  bribe,  of  Southern  support  to  aid 
him  in  reaching  the  Presidency,  the  wretched  charge 
is  refuted  by  all  the  principles  and  antecedents  of 
his  life,  and  will  be  believed  soberly  only  by  those 
who  have  a  purpose  to  gain,  a  hatred  to  gratify,  or 
who  love  darkness  more  than  light,  loathsome 
calumny  more  than  heavenly- visaged  truth. 

In  a  recent  discourse  delivered  in  an  eastern  city, 
that  has  gained  a  wide  though  not  a  very  enviable 
notoriety,  the  speaker  denies  to  Mr.  Webster  the 
faculty  of  originating, — says,  in  substance,  that  he 
dealt  in  commonplaces,  and  wrought  up  skilfully  the 
materials  furnished  to  his  hands  by  others.  The 


AND  SERVICES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


285 


allegation  in  a  certain  respect  is  quite  undeniable. 
If  it  be  meant  tliat  Mr.  Webster  was  utterly  desti¬ 
tute  of  tbe  faculty  of  devising  schemes  and  expedi¬ 
ents  for  evading  the  force  of  constitutional  law,  for 
getting  round  compacts  and  long-established  ordinan¬ 
ces,  without  sacrifice  of  duty,  for  shuffling  off  all 
awkward  restraints  imposed  by  oaths  of  fealty  to  the 
government,  and  making  the  mere  sentiment,  or  will, 
or  caprice  of  the  citizen  a  justifying  ground  of 
resistance  to  the  law  of  the  land — no  man,  it  must 
be  confessed,  was  ever  less  gifted  with  the  power  of 
origination  than  he.  He  had  absolutely  no  talent 
for  this,  not  a  particle  of  inventive  genius.  His 
talent  and  strength  all  lay  in  the  opposite  direction, 
and  in  proposing,  advocating,  maintaining,  and 
defending  plans  and  principles,  whose  operation 
looked  to  the  true  honor,  welfare,  and  happiness  of 
the  whole  country  and  every  section  of  it,  his  origi¬ 
nality  is  not  the  least  conspicuous  of  his  merits.  If 
he  had  it  not,  the  defect  is  neither  peculiar  nor  mar¬ 
vellous,  and  he  only  shares  it  with  the  greatest  names 
in  our  history.  Washington  had  no  originality,  but 
he  conducted  the  war  to  a  propitious  close  notwith¬ 
standing,  and  administered  the  government  with 
admirable  ability  and  distinguished  success.  Thomas 
Jefferson  had  no  originality,  but  the  Declaration  of 


286  A  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE,  CHARACTER, 


Independence  which  he  wrote,  is  none  the  less  effec¬ 
tive,  because  old  truths  are  stated  in  it  in  new 
forms  and  combinations,  and  for  a  specific  purpose. 
John  Adams  had  no  originality,  but  his  thrilling 
accents  in  favor  of  the  Declaration  ££  moved  men 
from  their  seats”  notwithstanding,  and  among  the 
words  advocating  the  immortal  charter  of  onr 
liberties  which  will  live  the  longest,  are  those 
beginning,  with  ££  sink  or  swim,  live  or  die,  survive 
or  perish,”  put  into  his  mouth  by  Mr.  Webster  him¬ 
self,  in  one  of  his  own  famous  orations.*  Alex- 


*  This  speech  of  John  Adams,  in  Convention,  in  support  of  “  the  De¬ 
claration,”  and  in  reply  to  a  strong  adversary  who  had  taken  ground 
against  it,  seems  to  me  the  finest  conceit  and  most  felicitously  car¬ 
ried  out  of  anything  in  the  whole  range  of  patriotic  oratory — and 
itself  disproves  the  charge  against  Mr.  Webster  of  a  lack  of  origi¬ 
nality.  It  has  for  us  a  perpetual  freshness,  pathos,  and  power, 
familiar  and  common  as  it  has  grown  by  incessant  schoolboy  mouth- 
in  gs.  Charles  Lamb,  indeed,  says  in  his  paper  on  Shakspeare,  “  I 
confess  myself  utterly  unable  to  appreciate  that  celebrated  soliloquy 
of  Hamlet,  beginning  ‘  to  be  or  not  to  be,’  or  to  tell  whether  it  be 
good,  bad,  or  indifferent,  it  has  been  so  handled  and  pawed  about  by 
declamatory  boys  and  men.”  Byron  expresses  a  like  experience  in 
the  40th  note  to  the  4th  Canto  of  Childe  Harold.  While  admitting 
the  truth  of  this  as  a  general  rule,  I  must  mark  as  an  exception  to  it 
the  effect  produced  by  reading,  in  their  connexion,  the  rousing,  thril¬ 
ling,  burning  words  ascribed  to  the  revolutionary  patriot.  I  can¬ 
not  read  them  without  full  sympathy  with  Sir  Philip  Sydney’s 


AND  SERVICES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER.  287 

ander  Hamilton  had  no  originality,  hut  he  neverthe¬ 
less  “smote  the  rock  of  the  national  resources,  and 
abundant  streams  of  revenue  gushed  forth.”  And 
so  it  would  he  easy,  with  a  dash  of  the  pen,  to  deny 
great  original  thoughts  to  the  most  illustrious  pa¬ 
triots  and  statesmen,  whose  career  adorns  our  annals, 
and  has  been  productive  of  signal  public  utility. 
The  highest  originating  faculty,  in  truth,  is  often  the 
least  useful  in  the  practical  good  it  achieves  for 
humanity  or  the  public  weal.  Mr.  Webster’s  origi¬ 
nality  will  certainly  hear  favorable  comparison  with 
that  of  the  great  fathers  of  the  Republic.  In  his 
case,  as  in  theirs,  the  great  good  has  been  achieved — • 
the  high  and  patriotic  purposes  carried  out  by  the 
appropriate  means,  by  the  resolute  will,  by  the 
labors  and  devotion  of  a  whole  life.  Originality  ? 
The  words  of  a  distinguished  Pagan  poet  uttered 
long  before  the  Christian  era,  “  nullum  est  nunc  dic¬ 
tum,  quod  sit  non  dictum  prius”  are  but  a  variation 
of  “  there  is  no  new  thing  under  the  sun,”  spoken  by 
the  sage  of  Israel  centuries  before  the  heathen 
reproduced  it.  If  Mr.  Webster,  therefore,  has  not 
originality,  his  lack  is  no  way  strange,  and  if  he  has 
it  not,  the  thing  will  be  hard  to  find  amongst  our 


declaration,  that  he  could  never  hear  the  old  song  of  Chevy-Chase, 
without  finding  his  heart  moved  as  by  the  sound  of  a  trumpet. 


288  A  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE,  CHARACTER, * 

legislators  or  great  men  of  tlie  present  or  the  past. 
At  least,  we  prefer  greatly  a  single  page  that  we 
could  cull  from  some  of  his  profoundly  wise  and  sig¬ 
nificant  utterances,  a  single  pregnant  passage  from 
some  grand  oration,  revealing  both  the  speaker’s 
sentiments  and  heart,  even  without  originality  if  it 
must  he  so,  to  all  the  bald  theories,  subtle  spiritual 
musings,  day  dreams,  night  visions,  and  rhapsodical 
vagaries,  however  profound  and  original,  of  all  the 
transcendental  philosophers  of  this  wise  age.  Web¬ 
ster  at  least  has  something  practical,  something  tan¬ 
gible  and  useful.  The  views  and  schemes  of  the 
others  are  for  the  most  part  absurd  and  impractica¬ 
ble,  and,  so  far  as  utility  is  concerned,  are  worthless 
as  the  froth  thrown  up  by  the  heaving  waves.  But 
let  this  pass. 

Mr.  Webster  had  warm  and  genuine  literary 
tastes ;  loved  poetry  and  history ;  loved  the  writings 
of  the  wise,  good,  and  great  of  former  times.  He 
knew  and  loved  the  Latin  language,  and  drank  in 
from  the  pages  of  some  of  the  great  Bo  man  authors, 
large  draughts  of  wisdom  and  philosophy.  He  had 
evidently  cultivated  general  literature  to  some  ex¬ 
tent.  He  had  no  small  acquaintance  with  books 
And  though,  perhaps,  not  a  ripe  and  varied  scholar 
in  the  full  sense  of  the  word,  yet  he  had  more  scholar- 


AND  SERVICES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


289 


ship  than  many  who  have  enjoyed  the  highest  honors 
of  the  country,  and  who  have  entrenched  themselves 
enduringly  in  the  grateful  affections  of  their  country¬ 
men.  His  scholarly  attainments,  if  not  profound,  * 
were  at  least  highly  respectable.  And  had  they 
been  far  less  extensive  the  lack  might  easily  be 
overlooked,  in  consideration  of  his  mastery  of  legal 
and  civil  science,  his  rare  accomplishments  as  a 
debater  and  as  an  orator,  the  scope  and  accuracy  of 
his  general  knowledge,  and  the  excellence  of  his  lite¬ 
rary  composition.  And  the  wonder  is,  not  that  he 
knew  no  more,  but  that,  with  all  his  burdens  of  pro¬ 
fessional  business,  and  public  and  private  duties,  he 
should  know  so  much  that  he  should  be  able  to  turn 
aside  from  the  work-day  beaten  track,  to  which  inexo¬ 
rable  business  called  him,  to  refresh  his  mind  with 
writings  in  a  foreign  tongue — to  slake  his  thirst  at 
those  perennial  fountains,  the  sweet  murmur  of 
whose  waters  seems  to  impart  to  the  aged  something 
of  their  own  immortal  youth  and  freshness.*  His 

*  Witli  his  favorite  Cicero,  he  could  exclaim,  with  warm  appre¬ 
ciation  of  the  truth  and  beauty  of  the  sentiment,  as  the  frosts  of 
advancing  years  were  gathering  upon  him — “  hcec  stadia  adolescen- 
tiam  alunt,  senectutem  oblectant ,  secundas  res  ornant,  adversis  sola¬ 
tium  ac  perfugium  prcebent,  delectant  do  mi,  non  impcdiunt  for  is, 
pcrnoclant  nobiscum,  percgrinantur ,  rusticantur 

13 


290  A  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE,  CHARACTER, 


Historical  Discourse  pronounced  last  winter,  dis¬ 
plays  liis  tastes  and  acquirements  in  this  direction  in 
advantageous  light — shows  much  information  and 
research,  with  nice  discernment  and  criticism,  both 
literary  and  historical,  and  shows  how  conversant  he 
was  with  subjects  beyond  the  range  of  his  stated 
everyday  engagements.  All  who  heard  him  on 
that  occasion  felt  admiration  and  wonder  ;  and  lavish 
praise  fell  that  night  upon  the  eloquent  old  man, 
from  lips  little  accustomed  to  bestow  it  in  that  direc¬ 
tion. 

His  tastes  were  simple,  genial,  natural.  He  loved 
his  farm  of  two  thousand  acres,  washed  by  the 
ocean’s  waves — loved  to  cultivate  the  soil,  and  see  it 
grow  in  fertility  under  enlightened  and  skilful  til¬ 
lage — loved  to  rise  with  the  lark  and  sally  forth  to 
smell  the  fresh  air,  and  brush  the  early  dew  from 
the  rejoicing  herbage,  and  drink  in  the  songs  of  birds 
welcoming  the  morning,  and  see  Nature’s  face  radi¬ 
ant  with  smiles,  and  hear  the  grand  matin  song  of 
the  sea,  and  raise  his  own  grateful  thoughts  to  Him 
whose  fingers  made  the  heavens  and  earth,  and 
whose  love  scatters  profuse  blessings  along  our  path¬ 
way.  He  loved  his  surviving  kindred  with  constant 
ardor,  and  cherished  the  memory  of  those  whom 
death  had  snatched  away  with  unabated  tenderness. 


AND  SERVICES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


291 


lie  could  hardly  speak  of  his  deceased  children,  cut 
down  in  the  morning  of  life,  without  tears.  Writing 
to  a  friend,  a  few  years  ago,  from  the  old  homestead 
in  hTew  Hampshire,  which  was  then  his  own,  he  re¬ 
calls  with  strong  emotion  the  form  of  his  noble 
father,  who  had  done  so  much  for  him,  and  whose 
kindness  he  had  repaid  as  far  as  filial  affection  and 
gratitude  could  repay  it.  He  recalls,  too,  his  brother 
Ezekiel,  the  finest  human  form  he  ever  saw,  to  whom 
he  had  been  strongly  attached,  and  who  had  died 
suddenly  years  before.  “  I  saw  him  in  his  coffin,”  he 
says ;  “  a  white  forehead,  a  tinged  cheek,  a  complex¬ 
ion  as  clear  as  heavenly  light.  The  grave  has  closed 
upon  him,  as  it  has  upon  all  my  brothers  and  sisters. 
We  shall  soon  be  all  together.  Dear,  dear  kindred 
blood,  how  I  love  you  all.”  He  never  forsook  those 
whom  he  honored  with  his  friendship.  All  his 
neighbors  respected  him,  and  they  who  knew  him 
best  loved  him,  for  he  was  affable,  and  kind,  and 
generous,  and  ever  ready  to  do  magnanimous  offices 
to  those  who  sought  his  assistance.  Ho  enemy  had 
cause  to  fear  the  effects  of  his  personal  malevolence, 
for  he  could  not  stoop  to  inflict  a  personal  affront  or 
injury  upon  any  man.  In  debate  the  same  spirit 
influenced  him,  and  during  his  long  term  of  service 
in  the  public  councils,  so  perfectly  dignified  and  be- 


292  A  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE,  CHARACTER, 

coming  was  liis  deportment  on  all  occasions,  that  lie 
was  never  called  to  order  in  his  place  for  the 
nse  of  unbecoming  language  or  unseemly  per¬ 
sonality. 

Ilis  religions  feelings  appear  to  have  been  deep- 
seated,  earnest,  and  abiding.  He  speaks  of  his 
honored  father,  in  the  letter  from  which  I  cpioted 
before,  as  a  man  of  “  Puritan  character,  and  deeply 
religious.”  Doubtless  from  him  he  derived  that  reli¬ 
gious  principle,  that  respect  for  the  Supreme  Being, 
and  the  Holy  Scriptures,  and  the  Christian  religion, 
which  stands  out  conspicuously  in  his  works.  The 
discourse  I  have  referred  to  already  denies  him 
much  religion,  except  in  its  outward  lower  forms, 
and  allows  him  very  little  conscience ,  especially  in 
his  latter  years.  But  for  his  speech  of  March  Ytli, 
1850,  or  if,  in  place  of  it,  he  had  come  out  with 
equal  power  in  favor  of  a  law  higher  than  the  Con¬ 
stitution,  and  counselled  resistance  unto  blood  to  the 
lawful  authorities,  no  doubt  the  proportions  both  of 
his  conscience  and  religion  had  been  greatly  enlarged 
in  the  estimation  of  a  class.  The  very  thing,  how¬ 
ever,  which  they  regard  as  the  proof  of  a  lack  of 
conscience,  we  are  inclined  to  regard  as  among  the 
evidences  of  its  possession.  The  point,  however,  I 
will  not  dwell  on,  as  the  state  of  another  man’s  con- 


AND  SERVICES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


293 


science  is  rarely  a  subject  of  profitable  inquiry  or 
safe  deduction. 

Tbe  Sacred  Scriptures  be  constantly  read  and 
studied,  admiring  them  as  mere  literary  productions 
more  highly  than  the  noblest  human  compositions, 
and  admiring  more  their  lofty  spirit,  simple,  ener¬ 
getic  style,  pure  morality,  and  sublime  inculcations — • 
teaching  as  they  do  how  to  serve  God  acceptably, 
how  to  serve  man  efficiently,  how  to  live  usefully, 
and  die  in  the  calm  of  the  Divine  sunlight  and 
peace.  We  easily  gather  from  his  recorded  senti¬ 
ments  everywhere,  how  deeply  his  mind  was  imbued 
with  the  grand  truths  of  the  Book  of  Life,  and  how 
great  his  obligations  to  it  were.  The  very  character 
of  his  style,  its  compactness,  its  clearness,  and  sim¬ 
plicity,  owing  in  great  measure  to  the  large  use  of 
those  nervous  all-expressive  Saxon  words,  whose 
magazine  is  the  English  Scriptures,  betrays  his 
obligations,  as  well  as  his  express  and  ever  reverent 
testimony.  I  shall  not  dwell  upon  the  evidence 
furnished  on  all  sides  of  the  strength  and  constancy 
of  his  religious  sentiments,  but  shall  be  content  with 
adducing  a  single  instance,  which  may  be  new  to  most 
present,  and  this  I  give  from  personal  knowledge.* 


*  Since  the  delivery  of  this  Discourse,  I  have  seen  this  anecdote, 


294:  A  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE,  CHARACTER, 

# 

Mr.  Webster  dined  some  years  ago  at  the  Astor 
House,  meeting  several  of  his  acquaintances  and 
friends  there  by  appointment,  and  among  them  Col. 
Stone,  then  Editor  of  the  Commercial  Advertiser , 
and  a  warm  personal  friend.  Col.  Stone,  in  the 
course  of  conversation,  put  this  question  to  Mr. 
Webster:  “  What  is  the  most  important  thought 
that  ever  occupied  your  mind !”  The  reply  was, 
after  a  pause,  “  My  individual  responsibility  to  God.” 
And  then,  with  becoming  solemnity  and  earnestness, 
the  great  man  entered  upon  a  conversation  of  some 
half-hour’s  duration  upon  this  weighty  theme,  the 
company  the  while  remaining  profoundly  serious 
and  attentive.  The  speaker’s  countenance  and  man¬ 
ner,  the  tones  of  his  voice,  with  the  weight  and  force 
of  his  sentiments,  conspired  to  produce  an  unwonted 
effect,  a  particular  proof  of  which  was  soon  afforded. 
A  gentleman  who  had  been  amongst  the  guests,  and 
was  somewhat  addicted  to  the  practice  of  profanity, 
was  observed,  after  Mr.  Webster  had  retired,  to  be 
silent  and  thoughtful,  and,  being  rallied  as  to  the 
reason,  declared  that  he  had  heard  words  from  Mr. 
Webster  which  impressed  him  more  deeply  than  lie 

with  some  variations,  in  the  public  prints.  I  relate  the  circum¬ 
stances  as  I  received  them,  and  have  no  doubt  of  their  substantial 
accuracy. 


AND  SERVICES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


295 


had  ever  been  in  his  life  before,  that  God,  the  just 
and  holy,  is  worthy  of  profonndest  reverence  from 
his  rational  creatures — that  he  felt  it  to  be  a  wrong 
and  an  impiety  to  utter  His  name  lightly  and  frivo¬ 
lously — and  that  his  determination  now  was,  with 
God’s  help,  to  repeat  such  strange  folly  no  more, 
lie  kept  his  word,  and  reformed  from  a  vice,  which, 
coarse  and  revolting  as  it  is,  many  unreflectingly  in¬ 
dulge,  who  would  feel  sorely  aggrieved,  were  their 
claim  to  honor  and  gentility  denied  them.  A  cir¬ 
cumstance  so  striking  deserves  well  to  be  pondered 
by  those  who  are  habitually  or  occasionally  profane. 
Happy  for  them,  and  for  all  men,  if  the  claims  of 
human  reverence,  love,  and  loyalty,  in  all  their 
length  and  breadth,  are  ever  recognised  in  principle, 
and  remembered  in  practice — the  claims  of  Him, 
whose  holy  law  declares,  that  “  the  Lord  will  not 
hold  him  guiltless  that  taketh  Llis  name  in  vain.” 

Mr.  W ebster  had  blemishes — had  faults.  To  have 
been  without  them  had  raised  him  above  our  hu¬ 
manity.  A  great  man  is  a  shining  mark,  ever  ex 
posed  to  the  slings  and  arrows  of  the  designing  and 
evil-minded.  What  in  ordinary  persons  might  pass 
unnoticed,  or  be  at  most  but  a  peccadillo,  becomes 
magnified  in  him  into  a  positive  disfiguration  and 
deformity.  For  this  reason,  what  fame  has  alleged 


296  A  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE,  CHARACTER, 

as  an  obliquity,  lias  been  made  worse,  I  have  no 
doubt,  than  it  really  is.  lie  held  a  public  position. 
He  was  surrounded  by  unwonted  temptations.  He 
was  fond  of  social  intercourse.  Tlie  customs  of 
refined  society  are  seductive.  The  smiles  and  ap¬ 
plause  of  valued  friends  are  exhilarating.  And  nemo 
mortalium  omnibus  horis  sajoit.  The  rest  need  not 
be  told.  Censorious  friend,  how  would  you  have 
resisted  and  carried  yourself,  if  exposed  to  such  an 
ordeal  ?  Possibly  made  a  speedy  wreck  of  yourself, 
sinking  worn  and  broken  down  in  person,  mildewed 
in  intellect,  blasted  in  reputation,  prematurely  into 
the  grave.  This  Mr.  Webster  did  not.  He  lived 
beyond  three-score  years  and  ten ;  lived — honored 
in  name,  unwasted  in  person,  with  eye  undimmed, 
and  natural  force  unabated,  and  with  glorious  intel¬ 
lect,  which  in  none  of  his  recorded  sentiments  has 
given  the  least  indication  of  decay,  vigorous,  and 
cloudless  to  the  last.  We  are  no  apologists,  how¬ 
ever,  for  any  man’s  short-comings.  We  hold  up  no 
man’s  blemishes  for  praise  or  imitation.  W e  are  not 
claiming  for  Mr.  W ebster  impeccability,  nor  the  cha¬ 
racter  of  an  exemplary  and  devoted  Christian,  any 
more  than  we  claim  infallibility  for  his  opinions,  or 
perfect  perpendicularity  for  all  his  public  acts  and 
course.  We  confess,  however,  to  a  disposition  to 


AND  SEE  VICES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTEE.  297 

soften  the  severity  of  acrimonious  censure,  to  look 
charitably  and  pityingly,  in  every  case,  upon  the 
waywardness  of  a  great  soul,  whose  predominant 
instincts,  purposes,  and  deeds  are  towards  the  High 
and  Hoble,  the  Eight  and  True.  We  cannot  forget 
what  pity  we  ourselves  need  from  Him  who  knows 
our  frame,  and  remembers  that  we  are  but  dust ; 
and  who,  were  He  to  “  mark  iniquity”  against  us  as 
unsparingly  as  we  are  tempted  to  mark  it  against 
others ,  would  blast  us  with  the  lightnings  of  His 
wrath,  or  make  us  exiles  from  His  presence  ever¬ 
more. 

And  oh !  what  a  calm  and  beautiful  close  of  life 
was  that  of  the  great  statesman  and  orator.  Loving 
friends  were  around  him  ;  countenances  tearful  and 
sad,  bosoms  wrung  with  anguish  at  the  parting  just 
at  hand — but  all  was  serene  composure  on  the  brow, 
in  the  words,  in  the  bosom  of  him  whose  last  hour  of 
earth  was  just  approaching.  Ho  tremors  shook  his 
frame,  no  remorse  distorted  the  visage,  no  poignant, 
regretful  accents  pierced  the  ears  of  those  who  gazed 
wistfully  and  sorrowfully,  but  words  of  confidence 
and  hope  proclaimed  the  inward  support,  which  the 
soul  derived  from  a  source  “  within  the  vail.”  Those 
Scriptures  which  had  been  read  so  thoughtfully  and 
earnestly  through  life,  now  seemed  to  shed  upon  the 

13* 


298  A  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE,  CHARACTER, 

mind  their  tranquillizing  beams.  Tliat  Saviour, 
whose  great  propitiation  had  been  rested  on  as  the 
only  foundation  of  hope,  now  stretched  forth  his  arm 
to  uphold  and  succor  the  soul  that  trusted  in  him. 
That  kind  Father,  whose  name  had  always  inspired 
veneration,  and  who  reconciles  penitent  sinners  to 
Himself,  through  His  Son,  now  seemed  to  lift  the 
light  of  His  countenance  upon  His  feeble,  languish¬ 
ing  child,  as  he  humbly  committed  himself  by 
prayer  to  His  benignity  and  protection.  And  with 
the  Lord  for  his  Shepherd,  and  the  rod  and  staff  of 
His  love  to  guide  his  feet  and  support  his  steps,  he 
quietly  passed  from  among  men,  walked  through  the 
valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  entered  the  spirit- 
land,  and  all  that  was  mortal  of  Daniel  W ebster  was 
no  more. 

*  Nothing  is  here  for  tears,  nothing  to  wail 
Or  knock  the  breast ;  no  weakness,  no  contempt, 
Dispraise,  or  blame  ;  nothing  but  well  and  fair, 

And  what  may  quiet  us  in  a  death  so  noble.” 

He  is  no  more,  and  yet  he  lives — lives  with  his 
great  contemporaries  who  have  preceded  him  by  a 
brief  period  to  the  dark  mansion  appointed  for  all, 
and  will  live  in  the  recollection  of  men  while  honor 
and  patriotism  continue  to  be  prized.  He,  as  well 


AND  SERVICES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


299 


as  they,  is  now  gathered  to  liis  fathers,  leaving,  as  an 
inheritance  to  those  who  come  after  him,  what  is 
worthy  and  heroic  in  his  life  and  example.  lie  has 
left  ns  the  Institutions  which  he  loved  and  defended, 
and  the  fair  country  which  nurtured  his  youth,  and 
whose  history  he  has  illustrated.  His  departing 
accents,  if  they  teach  anything,  hid  us  prize  our 
goodly  heritage  as  it  deserves  to  he  prized,  and 
never  fail  in  the  duties  which  we  owe  to  that  com¬ 
mon  mother,  from  whose  hosom  we  all  draw  nourish¬ 
ment  and  support. 

These  beneficent  institutions,  this  beautiful  country, 
as  our  heritage  and  home,  are  still  ours  *,  while  ear¬ 
nest  and  touching  voices  of  the  departed  wise,  great, 
and  good  fall  upon  our  ears  constantly,  to  remind  us 
of  our  obligations  to  the  past,  and  to  admonish  us  of 
what  we  owe  not  only  to  the  present,  but  to  the 
generations  who  are  to  come  after  us,  and  especially 
to  Him,  the  Great  and  Merciful,  without  whose  un¬ 
ceasing  aid  and  protection  the  builder’s  toils  to  rear 
the  edifice,  and  the  watchman’s  vigilance  to  guard 
the  city,  had  been  equally  unavailing.  These  voices 
from  the  spirit-world  should  come  with  power  to 
every  American  heart.  Plaintive,  solemn,  intensely 
sincere  and  solicitous,  the  spirit  of  their  blended 
counsel  and  admonition  would  find  expression  in 


300  A  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  LIFE,  CHARACTER, 

accents  such,  as  these :  “  The  span  of  life  is  short. 

# 

Its  swift  current  will  soon  merge  the  actors  now  on 
the  stage  with  those  who  have  already  had  their 
exits.  To  act  your  part  wrell  is  the  true  and  only 
honor.  There  are  present  and  pressing  duties  which 
every  citizen  owes  to  God,  to  his  country,  to  his 
kind.  God’s  smiles  and  blessing  on  the  toils  and 
sacrifices  of  the  men  Ilis  hand  raised  up  and 
strengthened,  have  given  you  a  country,  fair  and 
fruitful  as  any  which  the  sun  shines  upon,  and  rights 
and  privileges  secured  by  wdse  and  benign  laws, 
richer  and  more  valuable  than  any  people  ever  had 
before.  Sources  of  support,  of  comfort,  and  happi¬ 
ness  are  opened  here  for  the  many,  so  steadily-flow¬ 
ing  and  inexhaustible,  that  no  nation  has  ever  fur¬ 
nished  their  parallel ;  and  these  are  the  evidence  at 
once  of  the  worth  of  the  country,  its  institutions  and 
lawrs,  and  of  what  is  due  to  the  Divine  favor  for 
bestowing  such  a  heritage.  Guard  it,  therefore,  sa¬ 
credly  and  sleeplessly.  Guard  the  well-compacted 
ordinances  which  are  the  foundation  of  this  magnifi¬ 
cent  structure,  and  suffer  no  rash  hand  to  detach  or 
loosen  a  single  stone,  whose  absence  may  soon  cause 
a  wider  breach,  then  a  cracking,  then  a  sinking,  and 
finally  an  indiscriminate  crumbling,  overthrow,  and 
ruin.  Such  a  dire  catastrophe  not  only  sweeps  away 


AND  SERVICES  OF  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


301 


present  treasures,  but  blasts  the  hopes  of  the  coming 
ages,  whose  curses  must  rest  for  ever  upon  the 
matricidal  hands  dealing  out  such  remorseless  and 
unnatural  death.  Let  your  labor  be  to  preserve 
rather  than  destroy,  and  transmit  safely  to  others 
wThat  has  come  unimpaired  to  you.  Let  the  fast  fol¬ 
lowing  generations,  as  they  receive  uninjured  the 
sacred  trust  which  you  now  hold,  clap  their  hands 
for  joy  while  recounting  your  truth  and  fidelity,  and 
link  you  in  their  grateful  hearts  with  the  wise,  vir¬ 
tuous,  and  patriotic  of  the  nation’s  earlier  history. 
This  will  nobly  attest  a  work  well  done,  and  a  course 
honorably  finished — a  life  passed,  whose  benefits  to 
man  will  reach  far  beyond  its  brief  earthly  period.” 

An  utterance  such  as  this  is  not  fanciful.  I  think 
I  hear  this  voice,  and  I  would  that  every  citizen 
might  hear  and  would  heed  it.  While  we  honor  the 
accents  of  our  illustrious  dead,  and  him  recently  so, 
who  speaks  to  us  audibly  to-day,  we  will  not  forget 
that  God  lives  and  reigns,  and  that  our  responsibility 
is  present.  Our  course  is  not  yet  run ;  our  work  is 
not  yet  completed.  But  each  of  us  is  passing  on¬ 
ward  to  the  tomb,  where  is  no  work,  no  knowledge 
nor  device.  Let  us  act  our  respective  parts  well, 
while  the  little  remnant  of  our  lives  remains.  W e  have 
majestic  Institutions,  let  us  cherish  and  strengthen 


302 


DISCOURSE  ON  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


them.  We  have  the  Bible,  and  its  blessed  religion, 
and  houses  of  prayer  inviting  men  to  enter  them  and 
worship  ;  let  us  rejoice  in  each  heavenly  gift,  and  use 
it  as  beneath  God’s  eye,  and  with  the  judgment  day 
before  us.  We  have  talents,  varying  in  number;  let 
us  occupy  and  improve  them  diligently  and  unwea- 
riedly.  And  we  have  a  soul  to  save  through  Jesus 
Christ ;  let  its  deathless  interests  be  first  cared  for, 
and  beyond  all  other  things  cherished  and  secured. 
Then  when  our  last  hour  comes  we  may  meet  it  with 
unfaltering  serenity — our  tasks  done,  our  duties  dis¬ 
charged,  our  faith  firm,  our  hope  well  anchored,  our 
prospect  cloudless — and  laying  aside  all  mortal  bur¬ 
dens  composedly,  as  we  put  off  our  garments  for  the 
night,  may  rise  through  redeeming  grace  to  occupy 
the  promised  mansions, 

“  Where  cares  molest  not,  discord  melts  away 

In  harmony,  and  the  pure  passions  prove 

How  sweet  the  words  of  Truth,  breathed  from  the  lips  of  Love.” 


APPENDIX  TO  WEBSTER. 


APPENDIX  A. 

To  illustrate  the  influence  of  natural  scenery  blending  with 
early  associations  upon  the  formation  of  character,  I  may  cite  the 
following  beautiful  passage  from  a  Discourse  by  Dr.  W.  E.  C ban¬ 
ning,  delivered  at  the  dedication  of  a  Church  in  Newport,  his 
native  place,  in  1836.  The  writer’s  experience  could  be  easily 
confirmed  by  that  of  multitudes  whose  names  have  become 
historic. 

“  On  looking  back  to  my  early  years,  I  can  distinctly  recollect 
unhappy  influences  exerted  on  my  mind  by  the  general  tone  of 
religion  in  this  town.  I  can  recollect,  too,  a  corruption  of  morals 
among  those  of  my  own  age,  which  made  boyhood  a  critical, 
perilous  season.  Still,  I  may  bless  God  for  the  place  of  my 
nativity;  for  as  my  mind  unfolded,  I  became  more  and  more 
alive  to  the  beautiful  scenery,  which  now  attracts  strang¬ 
ers  to  our  island.  My  first  liberty  was  used  in  roaming 
over  the  neighboring  fields  and  shores ;  and  amid  this  glorious 
nature,  that  love  of  liberty  sprang  up  which  has  gained  strength 
within  me  to  this  hour.  I  early  received  impressions  of  the 
great  and  the  beautiful,  which  I  believe  have  had  no  small  influ¬ 
ence  in  determining  my  modes  of  thought  and  habits  of  life.  In 
this  town  I  pursued  for  a  time  my  studies  of  theology.  I  had 
no  professor  or  teacher  to  guide  me ;  but  I  had  two  noble  places 


304 


APPENDIX  TO  WEBSTER. 


of  study.  One  was  yonder  beautiful  edifice,  now  so  frequented 
and  so  useful  as  a  public  library,  then  so  deserted,  that  I  spent 
day  after  day  and  sometimes  week  after  week  amidst  its  dusty 
volumes,  without  interruption  from  a  single  visitor.  The  other 
place  was  yonder  beach,  the  roar  of  which  has  so  often  mingled 
with  the  worship  of  this  place,  my  daily  resort,  dear  to  me  in 
the  sunshine,  still  more  attractive  in  the  storm.  Seldom  do  I 
visit  it  now  without  thinking  of  the  work  which  there,  in  the 
sight  of  that  beauty,  in  the  sound  of  those  waves,  was  carried 
on  in  my  soul.  No  spot  on  earth  has  helped  to  form  me  so 
much  as  that  beach.  There  I  lifted  up  my  voice  in  praise 
amidst  the  tempest.  There,  softened  by  beauty,  I  poured  out 
my  thanksgiving  and  contrite  confessions.  There,  in  reverential 
sympathy  with  the  mighty  power  around  me,  I  became  con¬ 
scious  of  power  within.  There,  struggling  thoughts  and 
emotions  broke  forth,  as  if  moved  to  utterance  by  nature’s 
eloquence  of  the  winds  and  waves.  There  began  a  happiness 
surpassing  all  worldly  pleasures,  all  gifts  of  fortune,  the  happi¬ 
ness  of  communing  with  the  works  of  God.  Pardon  me  this 
reference  to  myself.  I  believe  that  the  worship  of  which  I  have 
this  day  spoken  was  aided  in  my  own  soul  by  the  scenes  in 
which  my  early  life  was  passed.  Amidst  these  scenes,  and  in 
speaking  of  this  worship,  allow  me  to  thank  God  that  this  beau¬ 
tiful  island  was  the  place  of  my  birth.” 


APPENDIX  B. 

I  must  here  disclaim  the  advocacy,  in  any  sense,  of  the 
Fugitive  Slave  Law  in  the  abstract.  A  law,  recognised  by  the 


APPENDIX  TO  WEBSTER. 


305 


“  powers  that  be,”  and  found  in  the  Constitution,  the  highest 
authority  of  all,  may  be  submitted  to  from  a  sentiment  of  loyalty 
to  the  government,  without  being  to  the  citizen  necessarily  an 
object  of  idolatry  or  blind  admiration.  I  have  no  sympathy  with 
the  law  itself.  I  deplore  the  necessity  that  gave  it  birth,  and 
the  imperious  circumstances,  at  the  formation  of  the  Constitution, 
that  demanded  for  it  a  place  in  that  Charter.  If  I  submit  to 
the  law,  in  faith  and  hope  that  the  time  may  soon  come  for  its 
just  and  orderly  abrogation,  and  thus  prefer  present  submission 
to  the  confusion  and  anarchy  that  must  ensue  from  lawless  re¬ 
sistance  and  rebellion,  I  trust  that  I  violate  no  duty  of  the 
good  citizen,  but  rather  perform  my  duty  in  a  spirit  that  He  will 
not  disown  who  paid,  on  His  own  and  His  disciples’  behalf,  a 
miracle-produced  tribute  into  the  coffers  of  a  government  which 
was  anything  but  a  just  and  righteous  government  to  Him. 

The  charge  of  inconsistency  and  betrayal  of  freedom  urged 
against  Mr.  Webster  for  his  sentiments  and  course  in  relation  to 
this  law,  is  founded,  I  think,  neither  in  justice  nor  truth. 
Making  the  Constitution  the  standard,  I  cannot  discover,  in  his 
speech  referred  to,  any  abandonment  of  ground  formerly  taken 
by  him,  any  broaching  of  novel  doctrines,  any  interpretations 
of  constitutional  law,  at  variance  with  those  put  forth  by  him 
so  authoritatively  on  other  memorable  occasions,  much  less  any 
course  of  action  dictated  by  the  gross  motives  of  personal  am¬ 
bition,  of  which  he  is  so  unsparingly  accused. 

I  have  made  an  allusion  or  two  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Parker’s  stric¬ 
tures  on  Mr.  W.,  and  will  here  submit  a  few  further  remarks  on 
this  subject.  I  am  not  insensible  to  the  rare  merit  of  Mr.  Parker’s 
u  Discourse  ”  as  an  intellectual  performance,  nor  disposed  to  de¬ 
tract  from  the  admiration  due  to  those  strong  qualities  which  ho 


306 


APPENDIX  TO  WEBSTER. 


is  sure  to  stamp  on  his  more  ambitious  performances,  investing 
them  with  interest  and  attraction,  which  secure  them  a  large  and 
attentive  audience,  and  which  have  given  the  one  in  question  a 
great  circulation.  While  we  commend  the  discourse  for  its 
ability,  we  must  condemn  it  for  its  bitterness.  As  a  master  of 
scathing  and  terrible  invective,  Mr.  P.  has  hardly  an  equal ;  and 
every  weapon  at  his  command,  in  this  case,  has  been  sternly 
grasped,  and  hurled  with  all  his  force  at  the  unwaking  and  un¬ 
witting  object  of  his  ire.  The  real  strength  of  the  position  or 
person  assailed,  is  at  once  attested  by  the  extraordinary  fury  and 
virulence  of  the  assault.  Its  excessive  gall  should  occasion  mis¬ 
trust  of  the  motives,  while  they  betray  the  animus  of  the  assail¬ 
ant.  And  the  question  will  arise,  whether  the  law  of  love,  the 
gushing  humanity  by  which  Mr.  P.  professes  to  be  governed,  is 
really  compatible  with  the  intense  hatred  exhibited  towards  one 
who  had  loved  and  served  his  country  long  and  well,  and  whose 
living  voice  could  no  more,  as  it  had  often  done,  repel  attacks 
and  cover  assailants  with  confusion  ? 

The  readiest  weapons,  and  the  easiest  to  use,  are  vituperation 
and  evil-speaking,  but  their  use,  especially  when  the  grave  has 
closed  over  their  object,  is  always  suspicious.  Their  use  is  indi¬ 
cative,  too.  It  points  rather  to  a  narrow  and  selfish  than  a  largo 
and  magnanimous  soul.  The  palpable  cruelty  of  a  single  blow 
decides  more  with  men  than  volumes  of  humanitarian  theory. 
It  indicates  lack  of  the  kindness,  the  forbearance  towards 
human  infirmity,  the  mild-visaged  charity,  the  humility,  spring¬ 
ing  from  one’s  own  consciousness  of  being  liable  to  mental  and 
moral  obliquity — qualities  which  none  need  more  than  professed 
reformers,  and  which  the  Nazerene  taught  and  exemplified  with 
an  authority  which  Mr.  Parker  possibly  ignores.  This  harsh 


APPENDIX  TO  WEBSTER. 


307 


and  intolerant  spirit  which  saturates  his  discourse,  is  not  only  a 
disfiguration,  but  detracts  greatly  from  any  real  force  his  teach¬ 
ings  might  otherwise  possess. 

Mr.  Parker  evidently,  and  in  spite  of  himself,  admires  Mr. 
Webster  greatly.  It  could  not  well  be  otherwise.  There  seems 
a  perpetual  struggle  going  on  in  his  mind  to  repress  bursts  of 
honest  admiration  as  Mr.  Webster’s  great  qualities  and  deeds  are 
surveyed,  and  the  struggle  is  not  always  successful.  But  after 
the  praise  is  fairly  spoken,  immediately,  as  if  to  atone  for  a 
momentary  weakness,  he  deals  out  to  his  illustrious  victim 
thrusts  with  fourfold  earnestness  and  energy.  He  raises  him 
high  aloft  ever  and  anon,  that  by  knocking  away  the  platform 
beneath  him,  with  remorseless  hand,  he  may  fall  farther,  and 
faster,  and  more  fatally.  Mottling  greatly  meritorious  and  com¬ 
mendable  in  Mr.  W.  is  set  forth,  without  placing  over  against  it 
some  vitiating  counterpoise.  And  I  hardly  know  which  to 
wonder  at  most — the  ingenuity  of  the  constant  juxtaposition  of 
great  and  heroic  qualities,  and,  according  to  Mr.  P.,  of  great 
faults  and  vices,  or  the  pertinacity  with  which  he  insists  that  a 
few  of  the  latter  shall  override  a  whole  life-service  given  to  the 
country,  and  make  Mr.  W.  irredeemably  bad.  Even  Mr.  Parker 
acknowledges  that  up  to  the  speech  of  March  7th,  1850,  Mr.  W.’s 
sentiments  and  course  had  been  on  the  whole  patriotic  and 
straightforward,  and  thus  the  little  two  years  that  remained  to 
him  of  life,  were  enough  to  shipwreck  for  him  all  the  honors 
and  trophies  that  all  the  former  years  of  his  life  had  accumulated. 
And  this  he  would  have  his  readers  believe ! 

Mr.  Parker  seems  to  as  to  be  quite  as  unfitted  by  idiosyncrasy, 
by  mental  and  social  aptitude,  for  understanding  and  hence 
justly  characterizing  Mr.  Webster,  as  Johnson,  according  to  Hr. 


308 


APPENDIX  TO  WEBSTER. 


Channing’s  showing,  was  constitutionally  unfitted  for  under¬ 
standing  Milton.  The  meeting  in  the  Broadway  Tabernacle 
several  years  ago  will  be  well  remembered,  at  which  Mr.  Wen¬ 
dell  Phillips  introduced  and  supported,  with  an  eloquent  speech? 
the  resolution  “  that  the  only  exodus  for  the  American  slave  is 
over  the  ruins  of  the  American  Church  and  the  American  Union.” 
Mr.  Parker  opened  this  meeting  with  prayer,  and  in  the  course 
of  the  meeting  spoke  at  length  himself,  from  which  we  may 
infer  that  he  cordially  approved  the  sentiment  of  the  resolution, 
an  inference  which  his  spoken  words  on  other  occasions  fully 
warrant.  I  shall  say  nothing  here  about  the  ruin  of  the  Ameri¬ 
can  Church  as  a  necessary  preliminary  to  emancipation.  But 
the  ruin  of  the  American  Union,  involving  that  of  the  Consti¬ 
tution,  is  here  proclaimed  a  necessity,  to  precede  that  great 
“  exodus  ”  from  bondage  which  Mr.  Parker  professes  himself  to 
be  laboring  and  most  anxious  to  effect.  The  Union  and  the 
Constitution,  therefore,  stand  in  Mr.  P.’s  way  to  his  object. 
They  are  enemies  to  freedom,  and  therefore  to  him.  The  Con¬ 
stitution,  recognising  slavery,  is  corrupt  all  over;  and  the  Union 
held  together  by  concession,  and  compromise,  and  forbearance, 
is  a  corrupt  Union,  and  both  should  be,  and  deserve  to  be, 
abolished.  Consistently  with  these  views,  Mr.  P.,  throughout 
his  discourse  on  Webster,  has  no  word  of  commendation  to 
bestow  upon  either  Constitution  or  Union — is  fired  with  no  zeal 
for  their  honor,  or  desire  for  their  preservation — is  no  way  im¬ 
pressed  with  those  great  historic  events  which  are  full  of  glorious 
associations  to  all  patriotic  hearts,  and  finds  nothing  in  the  senti¬ 
ment  of  nationality  to  stir  the  blood  within  him.  To  his  eye, 
slavery  is  the  one  lurid  cloud  that  overshadows  everything  bright 
and  beneficent  in  our  institutions.  That  present,  all  that  is 


APPENDIX  TO  WEBSTER. 


309 


good,  and  fair,  and  valuable  beside,  is  absent.  And  though  the 
country  has  exhibited  unexampled  expansion  and  prosperity  in 
spite  of  slavery,  and  has  become,  through  the  wonderful  facili¬ 
ties  opened  to  all  classes  to  find  employment,  competence,  and 
happiness,  the  admiration  and  envy  of  the  world,  “  all  this 

availeth  him  nothing,  so  long  as  he  sees  the  ‘  Domestic  Insti- 

• 

tution  ’  fixed,  as  it  is  upon  us,  by  others’  hands,  ”  and  perpe¬ 
tuated  through  an  unhappy  necessity — not  overthrown  and 
crushed  by  a  summary  blow.  And  though  the  blow,  struck  by 
whatever  hand,  should  involve  the  ruin  of  social  peace  and  order, 
and  every  dearly-prized  national  privilege  and  blood-bought  in¬ 
stitution,  that  consideration  would  furnish  him  no  reason  why 
the  blow  should  not  fall  and  the  mighty  sacrifice  be  made.  Such 
is  the  legitimate  consequence  to  which  his  principles  conduct. 

To  Mr.  Webster’s  mind  all  wore  a  different  aspect.  The  Con¬ 
stitution  was  the  most  wonderful  and  sacred  compact  that 
nation  ever  made  for  its  government.  It  was  to  him  not  only  the 
Great  Charter  of  our  liberties,  but,  reflecting  the  united  wisdom 
of  the  sages  that  formed  it,  worthy  to  be  an  object  of  veneration 
and  love.  He  bowed  to  its  august  authority  as  supreme.  He 
revered  its  letter  and  its  spirit.  He  looked  upon  that  hand  as 
sacrilegious  that  sought  to  remove  a  single  stone  from  its  broad 
and  massive  foundation.  He  was  impatient  of  all  attempts,  from 
whatever  source,  to  undermine  its  pillars,  impair  its  sanctions, 
and  nullify  its  all-embracing  influence.  And  to  elucidate  what 
in  it  seemed  susceptible  of  misconstruction,  and  to  bring  out 
clearly  before  the  public  eye  its  unmistakable  meaning,  which 
sophistry  often  sought  to  obscure  or  evade,  and  thus  preserve  its 
integrity  unimpaired,  he  has  bent  again  and  again  the  whole  re¬ 
sources  of  his  colossal  intellect,  embalming  his  luminous  expo- 


310 


APPENDIX  TO  WEBSTEK. 


sitions  of  constitutional  law  in  arguments  which  will  only  die 
when  the  language  which  preserves  them  is  no  longer  spoken. 

So  the  Union  of  the  States  was  to  him  a  sacred  Union.  With 
its  continuance  was  identified  the  prosperity  of  the  country,  and 
even  its  perpetuity.  He  could  not  see  how  dismemberment 
could  exist  without  horrible,  fatal,  and  irremediable  disaster.  To 
preserve  the  Union  was  the  first  duty  of  the  true  patriot;  to 
laugh  at  the  dangers  which  seriously  threatened  it,  above  all, 
to  excite  and  aggravate  these  dangers,  the  part  of  the  traitor  or 
madman.  His  great  heart  beat  with  a  true  and  healthy  national 
pulsation.  Every  suggestive  incident  in  his  country’s  history, 
every  memorial  of  the  heroic  past,  every  incipient  struggle 
against  oppression,  every  toil  and  sacrifice  suffered  in  the  cause 
of  truth  and  right,  every  revolutionary  battle-field,  stained  with 
martyrs’  blood,  had  for  him  a  voice  that  discoursed  music  to 
which  his  heart  of  hearts  responded.  And  with  no  small 
number  of  the  great  descriptive  facts  and  glorious  events  of  our 
history  he  has  contrived  to  associate  his  name  so  inseparably, 
that  the  events  themselves  will  as  soon  cease  to  be,  as  his  name 
dissevered  from  them.  The  Constitution  and  the  Union  were 
his  watchwords  ever,  and  if  the  earnest  and  consistent  efforts 
of  his  life  have  accorded  to  him  the  proud  distinction  of  “  Great 
Defender”  of  the  one,  they  not  less  entitle  him  to  be  considered 
as  foremost  among  the  “  Preservers”  of  the  other. 

Thus  radically  antagonistic — thus  viewing  these  matters  of 
public  interest  and  duty  from  such  opposite  standing-points — 
thus  with  scarce  one  sentiment  in  common  in  regard  to  what 
the  real  interests  of  the  country  demand  at  the  hands  of  each 
order-loving  citizen' — how  is  it  possible  for  Mr.  Parker  to  under¬ 
stand  Mr.  Webster  or  to  put  a  just  estimate  upon  his  public 


appendix  to  webstek. 


311 


services  and  character  ?  The  result  is  precisely  what  might  he 
expected.  The  portrait  in  some  of  its  prominent  features  is 
little  better  than  a  caricature,  from  this  total  want  of  sympathy 
between  painter  and  subject.  Mr.  Webster  is  branded  as  a 
traitor  to  freedom,  because  he  adhered  to  the  Constitution  as  he 
always  had  done,  and  refused  to  sacrifice  the  interests  and  rights 
of  the  whole  nation  to  the  clamors  and  importunities  of  a 
section.  As  if  he,  whose  whole  life  had  been  devoted  to  the 
defence  of  the  Constitution,  and  whose  highest  fame  had  sprung 
from  its  just  interpretation,  could  overlook  the  rights  of  the 
South  recognised  in  that  instrument,  or  fail  to  feel  that  the  Con¬ 
stitution  itself  could  never  have  been  framed,  or  the  government 
organized,  but  for  such  recognition.  Or  as  if,  had  Mr.  Webster 
laid  his  hand  on  that  specific  provision  relating  to  fugitives, 
to  tear  it  from  its  place,  and  proclaim  it  of  no  binding  force,  he 
would  not  have  been  doing  the  very  work  which  the  whole  force 
of  his  logic  and  eloquence  had  for  years  and  years  been  devoted 
to  withstand  and  condemn.  And,  let  it  not  be  forgotten,  that 
his  reverence  for  constitutional  law,  for  compacts,  for  stipula¬ 
tions,  which  had  become  a  habit  and  a  passion  with  him,  would 
have  led  him,  had  he  lived,  to  struggle  with  all  his  energies 
against  the  Kansas -Nebraska  Bill ;  the  enactment  of  which, 
effected  by  less  scrupulous  hands,  and  violative  of  express 
compacts,  has  opened  anew,  and  with  tenfold  acerbity,  the  fierce 
agitations  which  it  was  the  darling  purpose  of  himself  and  his 
great  compeers  to  allay.  These  things  should  be  pondered  while 
reviewing  the  services  and  work  of  the  illustrious  dead.  And 
though  the  Fugitive  Law,  for  which,  in  itself,  every  humane, 
unbiassed  bosom  must  feel  strong  aversion,  has  gone  into  force — 
defective  as  it  is,  and  without  the  qualifications  and  restrictions 


312 


APrENDIX  TO  WEBSTER. 


Mr.  W.  desired  to  annex  to  it,  and  which,  but  for  his  removal 
from  the  Senate,  he  would  have  labored  to  effect — let  us  do 
justice  to  the  motives  and  principles — judging  these  from  the 
whole  tenor  of  his  former  history — by  which  his  course  was 
shaped.  We  at  least  are  not  disposed  to  join  in  the  clamor 
which  has  been  raised  over  the  lamented  statesman’s  grave,  nor 
have  we  sympathy  with  the  allegation  that  the  Presidential 
prize,  as  the  reward  of  subserviency  to  the  South,  formed  the 
motive  to  his  course  on  the  Compromise  Measures.  That  he 
may  have  looked  to  the  Presidency  with  honorable  aspiration  may 
be  readily  allowed.  That  he  had  splendid  qualifications  for  the 
post  malice  alone  will  deny.  But  that  he  would  have  compassed 
the  object  by  unworthy  compliances,  by  sacrifices  of  principle, 
there  is  nothing  to  show  but  the  assertion  of  his  enemies.  Mr. 
Parker  himself  acknowledges  Mr.  W.’s  magnanimity  in  deferring 
his  own  claims,  on  a  memorable  occasion,  to  those  of  Mr.  Clay, 
and  adds  morosely,  that,  in  return  for  the  favor,  Mr.  Clay  exerted 
his  influence  to  withhold  the  nomination  from  Mr.  Webster  at  a 
subsequent  Convention,  succeeded  in  his  wish,  and  died  happy ! 
—an  interesting  view  certainly  of  the  kind  of  consolation  that 
soothed  the  last  earthly  moments  of  Henry  Clay. 

Before  leaving  the  subject  of  Mr.  Webster’s  motives  and  aims 
in  his  speech  of  March  Tth,  1850,  I  will  present  an  illustrative 
extract  from  a  letter  of  Hon.  John  C.  Spencer,  acknowledging  a 
copy  sent  him  of  the  foregoing  discourse.  I  shall  make  no  com¬ 
ment  on  the  letter,  which  speaks  for  itself,  farther  than  to  say, 
that  the  estimate  here  given  by  one  of  the  leading  minds  of  the 
State  and  nation,  belonging  now,  alas,  to  the  “innumerable 
caravan”  of  the  distinguished  dead,  apart  from  its  intrinsic 
interest,  carries  with  it  the  greater  weight,  from  the  rare  oppor- 


APPENDIX  TO  WEBSTER. 


313 


tunities  the  writer  had  of  knowing  thoroughly  the  matters  about 
which  he  writes : — 

Albany,  February  7th,  1853. 

Beverend  and  Dear  Sir — 

*  *  *  *  When  Providence  gives  us  great  and 

useful  men,  it  is  more  a  duty  to  the  living  than  to  the  dead 
to  commemorate  their  departure,  and  to  exhibit  for  admiration 
and  example  the  traits  of  character  which  have  rendered  them 
blessings  to  their  country  and  an  honor  to  their  race. 

Mr.  Webster,  in  addition  to  all  his  other  claims  to  our  grati¬ 
tude,  was  a  martyr  in  the  cause  of  conscience.  You  have  truly 
as  forcibly  analyzed  and  explained  his  great  speech  of  March 
7th,  1850;  but  there  are  extrinsic  circumstances  about  it  that 
render  it  heroic.  He  knew,  just  as  well  as  Luther  knew,  he  was 
to  be  condemned  by  the  Diet,  when  he  determined  to  attend 
their  sittings.  Mr.  Webster  knew  that,  in  the  utterance  of  that 
speech,  he  severed  the  closest  political  ties  that  were  ever  formed 
between  a  political  man  and  his  friends; — he  knew  that  he  had 
himself  been  the  innocent  cause  of  much  excitement  on  the 
subject  of  Slavery,  and  that  he  had  raised  expectations  which  he 
was  about  to  disappoint.  He  knew  that  he  was  about  to  sunder 
the  cord  that  bound  his  Northern  friends  to  him,  and  for  ever 
forfeit  their  confidence,  without  the  least  hope  that  it  would  be 
supplied  by  Southern  generosity — and  yet  he  marched  on,  as 
Luther  did,  to  the  altar  of  sacrifice,  and  willingly  immolated 
himself,  his  hopes,  his  ambition,  his  friendships — and  they  were 
the  strongest  that  man  ever  had = upon  what  he  conceived  the 
crisis  of  his  country’s  fate.  *  *  *  * 

With  great  respect,  I  am,  Beverend  Sir, 

Your  obedient  servant, 

John  0.  Spbnobb. 


14 


SAMUEL  JOHNSON  AND  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


Now  that  “  all  that  is  mortal  of  Daniel  Webster 
is  no  more,”  eulogy  seems  abont  to  exhaust  itself  in 
the  attempt  to  do  honor  to  his  illustrious  character 
and  services.  North  and  South,  the  East  and  West, 
every  section,  every  party,  sound  and  prolong  the 
notes  of  praise,  which,  powerless  as  they  are  to 
“  soothe  the  dull,  cold  ear  of  death,”  show  the  wide 
and  profound  impression  which  the  genius  of  the 
great  New  Englander  has  made  upon  the  national 
mind  and  heart.  The  country  has  lost  one  of  the 
greatest,  if  not  the  very  greatest  of  her  sons.  The 
Constitution  mourns  the  loss  of  the  mightiest  of  its 
defenders.  The  vessel  of  State  is  deprived  of  the 
most  far-seeing,  vigilant,  and  skilful  of  her  pilots. 
A  mighty  man,  the  energy  of  whose  great  intellect, 
the  full  wealth  of  whose  wonderful  resources,  were 
earnestly  devoted,  and  for  long  years,  to  his  country 
and  the  public  good,  is  fallen — and  who  shall  ade¬ 
quately  till  the  chasm  that  is  made  ?  This  seems 
well-nigh  the  universal  sentiment.  The  plaintive 


SAMUEL  JOHNSON  AND  DANIEL  WEBSTEE.  315 


accents  liearcl,  and  the  fervid  praise  spoken,  are  hut 
natural,  spontaneous  outpourings  of  a  grief  and  ad¬ 
miration  whose  full  and  honest  utterance  needs  no 
other  prompter  than  the  grave. 

Mr.  Rufus  Choate,  in  a  recent  tribute  to  the  cha¬ 
racter  of  his  deceased  friend,  marked  by  that  copious 
yet  chaste  diction  and  affluence  of  beautiful  illus¬ 
tration  which  so  greatly  distinguish  him,  mentions 
the  name  of  Johnson :  “  to  whom,”  he  adds,  “  I 
hope  it  is  not  pedantic  or  fanciful  to  say,  I  often 
thought  his  nature  presented  some  resemblance.” 
The  same  resemblance  has,  at  times,  struck  the 
writer  of  the  present  paper ;  and  he  indulges  with  Mr. 
Choate  the  hope  that  it  may  not  be  thought  “  fanci¬ 
ful,”  if  he  ventures  to  mark  a  few  of  the  points,  cir¬ 
cumstantial  as  well  as  characteristic,  in  which  these 
strong,  great  men  appear  to  resemble  one  another. 

Both  sprang  from  an  ancestry  not  renowned,  nor 
distinguished  by  the  gifts  of  fortune.  Michael  John¬ 
son,  the  Litchfield  bookseller,  and  Ebenezer  W ebster, 
the  Salisbury  farmer,  were  both  men  of  strong  sense 
and  great  personal  excellence,  impressed  with  the 
worth  and  advantages  of  education,  most  anxious 
that  their  sons  should  enjoy  it,  but  able  to  furnish 
only  partially,  and  with  difficulty,  the  means  to 
secure  it.  The  path  to  learning,  for  both  sons,  was 


316  SAMUEL  JOHNSON  AND  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

thorny  and  toilsome ;  but  each  had  the  longing 
desire  to  pursue  it,  and  the  strong  resolve  and  the 
resolute  will  before  which  obstacles  yield,  and  trials 
are  turned  into  pastime  and  pleasure.  Johnson 
pushed  his  way  manfully  through  difficulties  which 
would  have  daunted  and  disheartened  a  less  heroic 
nature  ;  and  the  record  of  his  straits  and  struggles, 
before  his  endurance  was  crowned  with  triumph,  is 
enough  to  move  our  tears.  Webster,  with  an  ordeal 
less  stern  and  protracted  to  pass  through,  had  yet 
severe  struggles  to  encounter,  and  both  the  conflict 
and  success  showed  a  strength  of  determination  and 
constancy  of  purpose,  enough  to  declare  that  greater 
difficulties  were  not  overcome,  only  because  greater 
ones  were  not  presented. 

Johnson’s  precocity,  his  aptitude  to  learn,  and  the 
foreshadowing  reach  of  his  intellect,  the  wonderful 
tenacity  of  his  memory,  the  force  and  manliness  of 
his  boyhood’s  opinions,  his  habits  of  study  and  obser¬ 
vation,  striking  to  the  teacher,  and  drawing  forth 
predictions  of  an  extraordinary  career,  find  all  of 
them  a  close  resemblance,  if  not  a  perfect  parallel,  in 
the  schoolboy  years  of  Webster.  Johnson,  in  his 
cloudy  days,  was  a  schoolmaster,  and,  like  Milton,  a 
greater  l^an  he,  disdained  not  to  eke  out  a  scanty 
livelihood  by  teaching  boys  ;  finding  pleasure,  no 


SAMUEL  JOHNSON  AND  DANIEL  WEBSTEK.  317 


doubt,  esteeming  it,  perchance,  honor,  to  impart  to 
those  who  needed  enlightenment  somewhat  of  his 
own  ample  stores.  Webster  relieved  on  occasion 
the  tedium  of  close  attention  to  preparatory  study, 
by  teaching  his  brother  Ezekiel’s  school,  and  more 
formally,  and  for  a  longer  period,  at  Fryeburg, 
Maine,  discharged  the  duties  and  bore  the  honors  of 
a  public  instructor,  an  employment  which  he  ever 
reverted  to  in  after  life  with  satisfaction  and  pride. 

Johnson  wrought  out  a  world-wide  fame  for  him¬ 
self,  a  place,  by  almost  unanimous  consent,  upon  the 
highest  literary  eminence,  by  dint  of  hard  and  perse¬ 
vering  toil,  in  spite  of  poverty  and  neglect,  the  dis¬ 
favor,  if  not  contemptuous  treatment,  of  the  titled 
patrons  of  literature — bringing  his  dictionary,  after 
seven  years’  stern  battling  with  the  adverse  elements, 
“  to  the  verge  of  publication,”  u  without,”  as  he  tells 
Chesterfield,  “  one  act  of  assistance,  one  word  of 
encouragement,  or  one  smile  of  favor.”  He  had 
commanded  success,  and  moved  thenceforward  a 
monarch  in  the  world  of  letters.  Webster,  more 
favored  by  being  the  child  of  a  Republic,  where 
merit  is  sooner  seen  and  appreciated,  was  not  forced 
to  battle  so  long,  nor  struggle  so  hard.  The  ascent 
to  a  stand-point,  lofty  as  that  which  Johnson  occupied 
after  the  publication  of  his  dictionary,  was  easier, 


318  SAMUEL  JOHNSON  AND  DANIEL  WEBSTEE. 

and  it  was  more  rapid.  But  had  it  been  quite  as 
slow  and  painful  in  all  respects,  he  had  that  within 
him  which  must  have  rendered  his  advance  and  vic¬ 
tory  undoubtedly  certain,  as  himself  and  all  men 
knew  it  to  be  after  the  enduring  words  spoken  by 
him  on  Forefathers’  Day,  on  Plymouth  Bock,  in 
1820,  or  the  grand  eulogy  on  Adams  and  Jefferson, 
six  years  later,  had  been  spread  before  an  applaud¬ 
ing  world. 

Both  Johnson  and  Webster  inherited  from  their 
sires  the  commanding  stature,  the  broad,  sturdy,  and 
stalwart  frame  which  might  seem  best  adapted  for 
the  most  determined  manifestation  of  intellectual 
energy.  Strangers  who  came  for  the  first  time  in 
their  presence  gazed  with  a  certain  awe  upon 
them. 

In  the  case  of  Webster,  manly  exercise,  diligently 
followed  day  by  day,  and  from  sheer  love  of  it,  im¬ 
parted  to  his  brawny  person  firmness,  vigor,  and 
elasticity,  so  that  he,  far  more  than  the  other,  uni¬ 
formly  had  what  the  ancients  considered  the  most 
precious  boon  the  gods  could  give — the  sana  mens  in 
sano  eorjpore.  Each  was  capable  of  vast  and  long- 
continued  intellectual  exertion.  In  both,  the  feature 
of  mind  which  predominated  was  Titanic  strength, 
adequate  to  remove  mountains,  and  which,  pressing 


SAMUEL  JOHNSON  AND  DANIEL  WEBSTER.  319 


right  on  towards  its  object,  scattered  hither  and 
thither  the  obstructions  in  its  path  as  chaff,  and 
counted  opposition  what  Job’s  leviathan  counted  the 
darts  that  rained  against  him,  “  as  stubble.”  Nor 
was  it  a  mere  blind  display  of  terrible  strength,  like 
that  shown  by  the  flying  elephants  of  Pyrrhus, 
trampling  down  and  overturning  every  thing  before 
them,  but  an  energy  delicately  poised,  adroitly 
adjusted,  instinct  with  sound  judgment,  and  guided 
by  reason,  reaching  its  object  with  the  most  unerring 
precision,  and  by  the  very  means  deliberately  chosen 
and  determinedly  prosecuted.  As  an  instance  of  this 
power  in  Johnson  we  would  cite  that  part  of  his 
essay  on  Shakspeare,  devoted  to  the  overturn  of  the 
“  j:>oetical  unities  :  ”  his  review  of  Soame  Jenyns’ 
“  Free  Inquiry  into  the  Nature  and  Origin  of  Evil,” 
and  the  masterly  logic  with  which  he  exploded  the 
evidence  for  the  genuineness  of  Fingal.  Webster’s 
reply  to  Ilayne  will  suggest  itself  at  once — many 
readers  having  it  by  heart — and  his  masterly  speech 
on  the  Force  Bill,  in  reply  to  Calhoun,  as  affording 
proof  of  this  all-compelling  strength ;  and  many  of 
his  forensic  arguments  come  without  seeking  for 
them,  to  swell  the  illustration.  In  both,  loftiness  of 
aim  and  a  profound  earnestness  breathing  from  every 
sentence,  invested  their  sentiments  with  a  dignity, 


320  SAMUEL  JOHNSON  AND  DANIEL  WEBSTEE. 

imparted  to  them  a  weight  which  rendered  them  the 
more  irresistible. 

Hor  was  the  stately  and  dignified  tone  of  his  more 
ambitions  compositions  the  only  one  that  Johnson 
had  at  his  command.  He  understood  well  the  varia¬ 
tions  of  which  language  is  capable,  and  could,  on 
occasion,  be  familiar,  natural,  even  playful.  The 
papers  in  the  Rambler,  compared  with  certain  of  the 
“  Lives  of  the  Poets,”  and  these  with  many  of  his 
letters  thrown  off  in  the  unreserve  of  friendly  inter¬ 
course,  will  illustrate  our  meaning.  W ebster’s  versa¬ 
tility  is  still  more  marked,  and  instances  of  the 
faculty  he  possessed  of  passing  easily  “  from  grave 
to  gay,  from  lively  to  severe,”  rise  up  the  moment 
his  name  is  mentioned. 

It  is  not  extravagant  to  say  of  him,  as  another  has 
said  of  Bacon,  that  his  understanding  resembled  the 
tent  which,  according  to  the  Arabian  Tale,  the  fairy 
Paribanou  gave  to  Prince  Ahmed.  Fold  it,  and  it 
seemed  a  toy  for  the  hand  of  a  lady ;  spread  it,  and 
the  armies  of  powerful  sultans  might  repose  beneath 
its  shade. 

Both  Johnson  and  Webster  had  large,  humane, 
generous  souls,  full  of  tenderness  towards  kith  and 
kin,  acutely  strung  to  the  accents  of  suffering,  and 
prompting  the  willing  hand  to  scatter  benefits  prodi- 


SAMUEL  JOHNSON  AND  DANIEL  WEBSTEK.  321 


gaily  around.  No  worthy  applicant  knocked  at  the 
door  of  either  in  vain.  Webster  was  careless  of 
money,  was  incapable  of  valuing  it  for  itself,  and 
well-authenticated  instances  are  on  record  of  incre¬ 
dibly  large  gratuities  having  found  their  way  from 
his  own  into  the  pockets  of  those  whom  he  thought 
needy  and  deserving.  Johnson  would  “  carry  home, 
on  his  shoulders  a  sick  and  starving  girl  from  the 
streets,  and  turned  his  house  into  a  place  of  refuge 
for  a  crowd  of  wretched  old  creatures,  who  could 
find  no  other  asylum  ;  nor  could  all  their  peevish¬ 
ness  and  ingratitude  weary  out  his  benevolence.” 
Both  loved  a  sumptuous  table  and  generous  fare,  hut 
could  be  abstemious  without  effort,  and  for  what  time 
they  chose.  Both  possessed  rare  social  qualities,  and 
were  wont  to  enliven,  and  at  times  electrify,  the 
respective  circles  they  adorned.  Johnson  was  great 
in  conversation,  and  Macaulay,  following  Burke,  and 
after  him  Sir  James  McIntosh,  repeats  the  sentiment, 
that  the  great  man’s  “  careless  table-talk,”  so  indus¬ 
triously  preserved  by  Boswell,  will  furnish  with  the 
coming  generations  his  chief  passport  to  immortality ; 
to  which  opinion,  with  “London,”  the  “Vanity  of 
Human  Wishes,”  “  Basselas,”  and  some  of  his  exqui¬ 
site  periodical  papers  in  our  eye,  we  enter  a  respect- 
fid  but  earnest  demurrer.  But  his  conversational 

14* 


322 


SAMUEL  JOHNSON  AND  DANIEL  WEBSTEK. 


exuberance,  acumen,  ancl  force  will,  we  doubt  not, 
remain  linked  to  the  best  of  bis  writings,  as  the 
decisive  verdict  of  posterity. 

The  charm  of  W ebster’s  conversation  is  the  theme 
of  all  who  knew  him  well.  His  wide  knowledge, 
hoarded  for  years  in  the  storehouse  of  a  memory 
that  rarely  failed  him,  his  wealth  of  anecdote,  his 
felicitous  diction,  copious  but  precise,  and  simple 
often  as  a  child’s  utterance,  with  a  voice  and  manner 
capable  of  giving  infinite  expression  to  what  he 
said,  made  him  the  most  agreeable  and  instructive 
of  companions,  close  association  with  whom  formed 
a  banquet,  whose  loss  to  those  accustomed  to  enjoy 
it  will  hardly  cease  to  be  a  pensive  recollection. 

Both  these  illustrious  men  entertained  deep  reve¬ 
rence  and  veneration  towards  the  Supreme,  towards 
His  oracles,  and  towards  the  religion  which,  through 
His  beloved  Son,  He  has  given  to  the  world.  "When 
Johnson  is  called  simply  the  “  great  moralist,”  as 
men  have  long  called  him,  he  certainly  receives  less 
than  justice  at  their  hands.  He  seems  to  us  an 
earnest,  _  devout,  God-fearing  man — truly  conscien 
tious,  full  of  sorrow  for  his  shortcomings,  and  seek¬ 
ing,  at  the  cross  of  Christ,  ease  from  the  burden  of 
an  upbraiding  conscience.  His  confessions  and 
prayers  reveal  the  struggles  of  a  contrite  soul,  whose 


SAMUEL  JOHNSON  AND  DANIEL  WEBSTER.  323 


only  hope  of  peace  is  the  great  Propitiation,  with  the 
guilelessness  of  the  repentant  child,  sobbing  all  its 
waywardness  and  sorrows  into  the  ear  of  pitying 
parents,  whose  pardoning,  soothing  words  are  looked 
for  as  the  only  halm  that  can  ease  its  pain,  and 
restore  its  joy.  In  the  speeches  of  Webster,  “  known 
and  read  of  all  men  in  those  memorable  discourses 
wdiich  great  public  occasions  called  forth,  and  which 
are  embalmed  in  the  nation’s  heart,  there  is  more 
frequent  and  reverent  mention  of  the  Supreme 
Being,  and  of  the  Christian  religion,  and  the  nation’s 
obligations  to  it  and  its  divine  Giver,  than  can  be 
found  in  those  of  any  statesman  or  civilian  whose 
words  live  amongst  us,  and  have  greatly  influenced 
society.  Often  and  often  have  we  compared  his 
spirit-stirring  words  in  this  respect  with  those  of 
other  public  men  greatly  honored,  and  our  heart  has 
warmed  to  him  as  he  has  given  to  the  God  of  nations 
the  glory  of  our  civil  exaltation,  and  assigned  to 
Christianity  the  first  place  amongst  the  causes  from 
which  our  happiness  and  prosperity  have  sprung, 
lie  might  do  this,  indeed,  without  much  depth  of 
religious  feeling.  It  might  spring  from  the  force  of 
association  or  faithful  Christian  nurture,  but  it 
seemed  in  one  so  earnest  to  be  the  fruit  of  principle 
and  faith,  the  evidence  of  a  heart  alive  to  the  right 


324  SAMUEL  JOHNSON  AND  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

and  true,  and  struggling  against  the  force  of  ensnar¬ 
ing,  worldly  besetments — a  force  bow  pressing, 
unwearied,  and  determined  in  its  assaults,  we  may, 
remembering  the  position  be  occupied,  somewhat 
estimate,  though  not  fully  know.  W ere  the  religions 
workings  of  his  large  heart  as  well  known  to  ns  as 
those  of  Johnson  are  known,  we  are  persuaded  that 
we  should  find  a  kindred  spirit  of  reverence  and 
devoutness  prominent  in  both,  amongst  those  inner 
powers  that  give  form  and  dignity  to  character. 

The  burly  Johnson  had  a  gentle  heart,  tender  and 
loving  as  a  little  child’s.  How  it  gushed  forth  in 
benevolence  has  been  remarked.  How  it  warmed 
ever  towards  his  kindred,  the  living  and  the  buried, 
is  worthy  of  notice.  His  letters  to  his  aged  mother, 
breathing  tenderness,  gratitude,  and  filial  devotion 
in  every  line,  are  worthy  to  be  learned  by  heart. 
His  mourning  for  his  deceased  wife,  by  twenty  years 
his  senior,  appears  to  have  lasted  during  all  his  life, 
and  each  anniversary  of  her  death,  her  image 
recalled  gave  increased  solemnity  and  tenderness  to 
his  prayers  and  religious  meditations.  On  his  last 
visit  to  Litchfield,  an  old  man  of  seventy-five,  the 
poignant  remembrance  of  one  act  of  filial  disobedi¬ 
ence,  committed  fifty  years  before,  keenly  smote 
him.  His  father  being  indisposed  at  the  time  re- 


SAMUEL  JOHNSON  AND  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


325 


ferred  to,  had  requested  him  to  go  to  the  neigh¬ 
boring  market  town  of  Uttoxeter,  and  attend  for 
that  day  the  bookstall  he  himself  was  wont  to 
occupy,  and  the  son  had  refused,  his  pride  prompt¬ 
ing,  as  he  said,  his  rebellion.  And  now,  fifty  years 
thereafter,  he  repaired  to  the  same  town  on  market- 
day,  and  before  the  same  stall  uncovered  his  head, 
and  reverently,  and  heedless  of  the  pelting  of  the 
rain  and  the  jeers  of  bystanders,  stood  for  an  hour, 
as  a  sort  of  penance  for  a  single  act — the  only  one 
he  remembered — of  contumacy  towards  his  parent. 

There  is  something  touching  in  this,  and  evincive 
of  a  sincere  soul.  Webster  had  equal  strength  of 
filial  tenderness.  Writing  only  six  years  ago  from 
the  paternal  acres  in  2STew  Hampshire,  which  were 
then  his  own,  he  affectingly  recounts  how  his  father 
proposed  to  educate  him,  a  raw  lad,  by  his  own  toils 
and  self-denial,  and  how,  overcome  by  this  mark  of 
generosity,  he  wept:  and  adds,  “I  cry  now  at  the 
recollection.”  Then  his  noble  father,  as  he  then 
looked,  seems  to  stand  before  him ;  and  his  brother 
Ezekiel,  too,  the  finest  human  form  he  ever  saw,  ma¬ 
jestic  in  his  very  coffin,  “the  white  forehead,  the 
tinged  cheek,  and  the  complexion  clear  as  heavenly 
light.”  “  The  grave,”  he  exclaims,  “  has  closed  upon 
him,  as  it  has  on  all  my  brothers  and  sisters.  We 


326  SAMUEL  JOHNSON  AND  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

sliall  soon  be  all  together.  But  this  is  melancholy, 
and  I  leave  it.  Dear,  dear  kindred  blood,  how  I  love 
you  all  l  ” 

There  is  a  certain  likeness  in  the  very  circum¬ 
stances  attendant  on  the  closing  days  of  the  lives  of 
these  two  men.  Johnson  had  a  mortal  fear  of  death 
and  the  grave,  and  to  his  mind  it  seemed  better  to 
bear  the  ills  he  had — and  very  sore  had  the  burden 
grown — than  “fly  to  others  that  he  knew  not  of.” 
When  the  physician  scarified  his  swollen  legs  more 
gently  than  he  thought  fitting  for  the  emergency,  he 
cried  out,  “  Cut  deeper,  deeper ;  I  want  life ;  and 
you  are  afraid  of  giving  me  pain,  which  I  do  not  re¬ 
gard.”  Webster  exhibited  a  more  uniform  tran¬ 
quillity;  and  his  reply  to  the  kind  physician  who 
offered  him  a  palliative,  “  Something  more,  Doctor, 
more  ;  I  want  restoration,”  seems  the  involuntary 
expression  of  lingering  fondness  for  scenes  and 
treasures  he  was  soon  to  leave  for  ever.  Johnson,  a 
few  days  before  his  death,  oppressed  with  gloom  and 
despondency,  which  were  constitutional  to  him, 
questioned  Dr.  Brocklesby  as  he  entered  the  sick 
room,  in  the  words  of  one  of  his  poetical  favorites, 

“  ‘  Canst  thou  not  minister  to  a  mind  diseased, 

Pluck  from  the  memory  a  rooted  sorrow, 

Raze  out  the  written  troubles  of  the  brain, 


SAMUEL  JOHNSON  AND  DANIEL  WEBSTER.  327 


And,  with  some  sweet  oblivious  antidote, 

Cleanse  the  stuffed  bosom  of  that  perilous  stuff 
Which  weighs  upon  the  heart  ?  ’  ” 

And  was  much  gratified  with  the  Doctor’s  ready 
answer  and  application : 

“  ‘ - Therein  the  patient 

Must  minister  to  himself.’ M 

Webster  murmured  indistinctly  the  words,  “Poet, 
poetry — Gray,  Gray,”  and  seemed  to  find  pleasure  in 
hearing  some  stanzas  read  from  the  noblest  elegy  in 
the  language,  always  a  favorite  with  him,  whose  fine 
imagery  in  his  “  Historical  Discourse”  he  has  so  aptly 
characterized.  Johnson’s  trust  in  the  Crucified  for 
pardon  and  salvation,  his  devout  conversations, 
fervent  prayers,  his  calmness  and  resignation,  becom¬ 
ing  greater  as  he  neared  the  “  bourne,”  are  well  set 
forth  by  the  greatest  of  biographers,  and  forcibly 
suggest  Young’s  picture,  beginning  with  “The  cham¬ 
ber  where  the  good  man  meets  his  fate.”  Webster 
surveyed  the  approach  of  his  mortal  hour  with  un¬ 
disturbed  serenity ;  waited  patiently  for  the  last  sands 
to  subside ;  fervently  commended  himself  to  his 
Father’s  protection  and  mercy  through  Jesus  Christ; 
gave  precise  directions  about  his  worldly  affairs,  and 


328  SAMUEL  JOHNSON  AND  DANIEL  WEBSTEK. 


his  parting  adieus  and  counsels  to  his  friends,  and 
found,  as  his  physician*  suggested,  “Thy  rod,  thy 
rod — thy  staff,  thy  staff,”  the  very  prop  he  wanted 
to  comfort  him  in  passing  through  the  V alley  of  the 
Shadow  of  Death.  Viewing  the  great  achievements 
of  his  life,  and  its  striking  close  in  a  death  so  tran¬ 
quil  and  sublime,  at  his  own  home,  surrounded  by 
loving  friends  and  endeared  associations,  it  is  fitting 
to  apply  to  himself  the  quotation  he  so  felicitously 
applied  to  another :  Felix  non  tantum  claritate  vitm 
sed  etiam  mortis  ojoportunitate. 

But  while  such  points  of  coincidence  and  resem¬ 
blance  between  these  great  men  are  discernible,  it 
must  he  remarked  that  there  are  discernible,  too, 
points  of  dissimilarity,  and  points  wherein  the  one 
rises  above  the  other.  Johnson  had  more  literature, 
and  a  scholarship  more  varied  and  extensive ;  his 

*  Theodore  Parker,  in  his  discourse  on  the  death  of  Webster,  amid 
much  erroneous  and  exaggerated  statement,  and  views  distorted  by 
the  intense  hatred  felt  by  the  ultra-abolitionists  towards  Mr.  Web¬ 
ster  since  his  speech  of  March  7th,  1850,  has  some  powerful  and 
graphic  passages,  and  a  few  of  rare  beauty,  as  the  following:  “The 
kindly  doctor  sought  to  sweeten  the  bitterness  of  death  with  medi¬ 
cated  skill ;  and  when  that  failed  he  gave  the  great  man  a  little 
manna  that  fell  down  from  heaven  a  thousand  years  ago,  and  the 
shepherd  David  gathered  it  up  and  kept  it  in  a  Psalm:  “The  Lord 
is  my  shepherd,  &c.” 


SAMUEL  JOHNSON  AND  DANIEL  WEBSTER.  329 


acquaintance  with  the  Latin  particularly  enabling 
him  to  converse  in  it  fluently  and  well.  Literature 
was  his  profession,  his  passion,  and  his  joy,  and  the 
energy  and  enthusiasm  with  which  he  pursued  it, 
bore  for  him  golden  fruits.  Webster  knew  the  Latin 
passably,  and  a  few  of  his  favorite  authors,  whom  he 
was  fond  of  quoting,  perhaps  thoroughly ;  but  legal 
science  and  civil  science  received  his  chief  care,  and 
his  attainments  in  both  placed  him  not  only  high 
above  Johnson,  but  high  above  the  highest  of  his 
contemporaries.  Had  Johnson  turned  his  attention 
to  the  law  or  to  statesmanship,  he  had  qualities  that 
would  have  insured  him  rare  excellence  and  distinc¬ 
tion.  And  Webster,  beyond  doubt,  with  his  well- 
known  tastes,  had  attained  -high  eminence,  if  his 
powers  had  been  devoted  chiefly  to  literature.  The 
occasional  excursions  of  each  into  the  field  whereon 
the  other  had  won  his  proudest  triumphs,  show  what 
they  were  respectively  capable  of  doing  and  might 
have  done,  had  their  course  been  guided  by  a  differ¬ 
ent  star.  Johnson’s  manners  were  rough,  his  person 
ungainly,  his  countenance  stolid,  his  speech  abrupt, 
his  temperament  melancholic ;  his  religion  had  a 
tinge  of  superstition  which  sometimes  resulted  in 
grotesque  and  amusing  exhibitions ;  and  such  was 
his  susceptibility  to  prejudice,  and  the  sway  it  oc- 


330  SAMUEL  JOHNSON  AND  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 

casionaliy  exerted  over  him,  that  the  strong  arm 
which  would  have  annihilated  an  opponent,  felt  para¬ 
lyzed  when  in  the  act  to  strike.  W ebster’s  manners, 
person,  countenance,  speech,  temperament,  and  re¬ 
ligious  idiosyncrasy  were  all  the  reverse  of  these, 
while  mere  prejudice  could  never  warp  his  judgment 
by  “  the  tithe  of  a  hair,”  nor  give  occasion  for  any 
to  say  that  a  jaundiced  eye  led  him  to  see  objects 
distorted,  or  mistake  the  unreal  for  the  true.  John¬ 
son’s  style,  in  his  most  ambitious  and  what  he  con¬ 
sidered  his  best  writing,  was  measured,  pompous,  and 
elaborately  artificial,  composed  largely  of  words  of 
“  learned  length  and  thundering  sound,”  adopt¬ 
ed  from  a  foreign  lineage  and  detracting  from 
the  grace  and  power  of  his  compositions.  Crowds 
of  imitators  toiling  to  follow  in  his  footsteps,  show 
the  vitiating  influence  on  taste  of  a  single  great  and 
perverted  example.  Webster  expressed  himself  in 
language  never  open  to  such  obj  ection ;  ample,  con¬ 
cise,  forcible,  all-expressing,  its  staple  being  the  pic¬ 
turesque  and  sinewy  Anglo-Saxon,  which  has  a  flow 
and  a  music,  and  a  directness,  and  a  native  charm 
and  vigor  about  it  which  no  imported  vocabulary 
can  ever  reach.  Johnson  loved  the  big  city’s  walls, 
and  smoke,  and  turmoil,  and  was  careless  of  the 
sight  of  green  fields  and  springing  wild  flowers,  and 


SAMUEL  JOHNSON  AND  DANIEL  WEBSTER.  331 


of  nature’s  varied  and  lavishly  displayed  finery, 
while  Webster  loved  in  the  country 

“  The  breezy  call  of  incense-breathing  morn,” 

and  loved  to  look  upon  the  mad  gambols  and  hear 
the  roar  of  old  ocean,  and  draw  inspiration  from — 
But  we  break  off  abruptly,  aware  that  we  have 
drawn  so  largely  upon  the  good  nature  of  readers 
and  columns,  that  this  matter  of  unlikeness  may  well 
bear  to  be  cut  short.  We  only  pause  to  add,  that  it 
has  been  better  for  the  world  that  these  great  men 
have  lived  in  it.  Their  sentiments  speak,  their 
principles  speak,  their  works  and  example  speak,  and 
will  long  speak  with  the  authority  that  shall  com¬ 
mand  attention  and  respect.  And  if  what  Carlyle 
says  of  Johnson,  whom  he  calls  “  the  largest  soul  in 
all  England ;  a  giant,  invincible  soul,  a  true  man’s,” 
may  be  received,  that  “he  was  prophet  to  his 
people,  and  preached  to  them,  as  all  like  him  always 
do,  in  a  world  where  much  is  to  be  done  and  little 
is  to  be  known,  see  how  you  will  do  it,”  we  may 
without  presumption  place  Webster  in  the  same 
category  of  prophets.  ETo  great  man  need  wish  a 
nobler  epitaph  than  this :  “  While  he  lived,  he  strug¬ 
gled  to  do  faithfully  the  work  assigned  him :  being 
dead,  his  deeds  and  example  lead  others  to  struggle 


332  SAMUEL  JOHNSON  AND  DANIEL  WEBSTEK. 

to  do  likewise.”  Both  Johnson  and  Webster  we 
believe  well  entitled  to  such  a  memorial.  It  will 
speak  eloquently  to  the  coming  years,  long  after  the 
voice  of  “  storied  urn  and  animated  bust  ”  shall  have 
become  silent. 


CHARLES  DICKENS  AND  HIS  PHILOSOPHY. 


Frederick  Schlegel,  in  his  Lectures  on  the  His¬ 
tory  of  Literature,  notices  suggestively  the  grave 
defect,  palpable  in  the  histories  of  Gibbon  and 
Hume,  and  apparent  in  most  others,  of  severing  his¬ 
tory  from  philosophy.  Instead  of  separating  them 
they  should  be  kept,  as  far  as  possible,  united.  For, 
he  contends,  “  history  without  philosophy  is  merely 
a  dead  heap  of  useless  materials,  devoid  of  internal 
unity,  proper  purpose,  or  worthy  result.”  The  mate¬ 
rials  of  history,  drawn  from  whatever  sources,  and 
reduced  to  some  order,  and  “  made  up  into  loose  por¬ 
traits  of  the  fisher,  the  hunter,  the  emigration  of  the 
early  nations,  and  the  different  conditions  of  agricul¬ 
tural,  pastoral,  and  commercial  peoples,”  are  usually 
dignified  by  being  called  “  A  view  of  the  history  of 
mankind.”  Interesting  and  important  as  the  record 
of  the  progress  and  habits  of  our  species  may  prove 
to  be,  “  how  little,”  he  adds,  “  is  gained  by  all  this  as 
to  the  only  real  question,  an  answer  to  which  should 
form  the  proper  history  of  mankind !  How  little  do 
we  learn  as  to  the  origin  and  proper  state,  or  the 


334  CHARLES  DICKENS  AND  HIS  PHILOSOPHY. 

present  lamentable  and  fallen  condition  of  human 
nature.  The  answer  to  this  question,  which  is  the 
essence  of  all  history,  can  only  be  supplied  by  reli¬ 
gion  and  philosophy — that  philosophy ,  I  mean , 
which  has  no  other  ambition  and  no  other  end  but 
to  support  religion 

Were  a  similar  test  applied  to  the  work  of  fiction, 
a  still  more  glaring  absence  of  that  true  philosophy, 
whose  end  is  to  support  religion,  would  at  once 
appear.  Nor  is  there  any  reason,  in  the  nature  of 
the  case,  why  such  deficiency  should  here  exist. 
There  is  urgent  reason,  on  the  contrary,  why  this 
class  of  compositions  should  be  marked  by  a  high 
moral  purpose,  and  pervaded  by  a  genuinely  philo¬ 
sophic  spirit. 

The  fictitious  work  has  stronger  fascination  for 
ordinary  readers  than  the  historical  narrative,  and 
for  obvious  reasons.  The  gay  colors  with  which  its 
pages  are  adorned,  the  free  and  varied  play  of  the 
delineated  passions,  the  minute  drawing  out  of  cha¬ 
racter  in  its  wide  and  multiform  ramifications,  the 
excitement  attendant  upon  the  gradual  unfolding  of  a 
skilfully  wrought  and  incident-abounding  plot,  the 
intermixture  of  dialogue  with  the  narrative  and 
descriptive,  joined  to  its  simpler  and  more  engaging 
style,  unite  to  invest  it  with  an  interest  rarely  pos- 


CHARLES  DICKENS  AND  HIS  PHILOSOPHY. 


335 


sessed  by  the  more  formal  and  unimaginative  history. 
As  a  consequence,  it  has  a  wider  circulation.  It 
finds  its  way  to  homes  rarely  lightened  by  the  rays 
proceeding  from  the  graver  and  more  dignified  trea¬ 
tise.  It  comes  in  direct  contact  with  the  popular 
mind  and  heart,  embracing  classes  than  whom  none 
stand  in  more  need  of  faithful  moral  instruction — the 
teachings  of  a  true  philosophy.  Its  influence  for 
good  or  evil — supposing  it  a  work  of  real  power — 
must,  of  course,  be  on  a  scale  proportioned  to  the 
number  of  readers,  and  the  hold  it  secures  on  their 
sympathies.  Thus  it  is  easy  to  see  what  wide-reach¬ 
ing  and  momentous  interests  are  interwoven  with  the 
character  of  the  fictitious  work.  Such  work  should 
therefore  have  a  high  moral  purpose,  and  be  charac¬ 
terized  by  no  tortuous  and  diseased  philosophy,  to 
warp  or  inoculate  with  false  principles  the  minds 
coming  in  contact  with  it,  becoming  thus  a  bane 
rather  than  a  blessing  to  society. 

It  may  be  said,  indeed,  that  the  pages  of  a  romance 
are  hardly  the  place  where  a  reader  expects  to  find 
the  Christian  moralities,  as  such,  exhibited  and 
enjoined.  The  religious  novel — if  this  expression  be 
not  a  solecism — has  rarely  enjoyed  the  highest  popu¬ 
larity.  Of  the  excellent  publications  of  this  class, 
written  for  the  most  part  by  persons  of  the  gentler 


336  CHARLES  DICKENS  AND  HIS  PHILOSOPHY. 

sex,  very  few  have  succeeded  in  reaching  the  dignity 
of  classics,  and  have  been  forced  to  rest  content  with 
a  lukewarm  approval  and  a  narrow  circulation. 
Whether  there  is  supposed  to  he  a  natural  discor¬ 
dance  between  the  direct  teaching  of  the  Christian 
charities  and  works  of  the  imagination,  or  whether 
the  readers  who  turn  eagerly  to  fictitious  composi¬ 
tions  form,  for  the  most  part,  a  class  of  persons  im¬ 
patient  of  Christian  lessons,  or  who,  if  they  must  be 
taught  religiously,  decline  such  instruction  save  from 
those  whose  profession  and  office  give  them  autho¬ 
rity  to  teach,  we  shall  not  undertake  to  decide.  It 
is  certain  that  the  religious  element,  strictly  so  called, 
has  been  considered  rather  a  hindrance  than  a  help 
to  the  popularity  of  the  work  of  fiction.  And  those 
authors  who  have  most  adroitly  catered  for  the  pub¬ 
lic  taste,  have  taken  special  pains  not  to  overburden 
either  their  dramatis  personal  or  their  own  reflections 
with  too  much  of  the  religious  materiel.  With  a 
wisdom  and  perspicacity  which  the  children  of  this 
world,  in  their  generation,  seldom  lack,  they  have 
adapted  their  books  to  the  known  predilections  as 
well  as  the  mental  aptitudes  of  those  whom  they  de¬ 
signed  to  attract  and  amuse. 

The  religious  character  often  stands  as  the  syno¬ 
nym  for  cant,  prudery,  fanaticism,  Puritanism,  and 


CHARLES  DICKENS  AND  HIS  PHILOSOPHY.  337 


other  ill-favored  but  significant  epithets,  which, 
though  making  capital  subjects  for  satire  and  carica¬ 
ture,  are  not  well  fitted  for  sober  representation.  It 
is  not  their  business,  the  novelist  will  argue,  to  teach 
religion,  or  recommend  its  peculiar  sentiments.  Reli¬ 
gion  is  taught  professedly  by  the  preachers,  and 
written  out  in  many  a  grave  sermon  or  heavier 
octavo,  and  all  who  desire  it  can  at  any  time  hear 
the  one  or  fall  asleep  composedly  over  the  other. 
But  whep.  readers  take  up  a  tale,  they  do  not  expect 
to  be  lectured  didactically  upon  the  rigid  prescrip¬ 
tions  of  the  Christian  code,  and  the  attempt  to  do  so 
is  apt  to  be  regarded  as  an  encroachment  on  the  pro¬ 
vince  and  prerogatives  of  others. 

Thus  the  novel,  from  its  associations  and  very 
name,  would  seem  to  forbid  its  being  regarded  as  a 
vehicle  of  religious  inculcation.  Its  work,  indeed, 
has  too  often  been  the  very  reverse.  It  has  been  the 
vehicle — and  alas,  has  not  ceased  to  be  so — of  scat¬ 
tering  the  loosest  morality,  the  most  depraving  and 
poisonous  principles.  Rot  only  has  it  been  such  in 
an  age  when  literature  was  most  corrupt,  but  when 
it  was  comparatively  pure ;  not  only  in  the  age  of 
Wycherly  and  Congreve,  but  in  that  of  Johnson  and 
Goldsmith.  Even  in  this  latter  age  the  novel  was 
marked  by  a  character  which  rendered  its  introduc- 

15 


338  CHARLES  DICKENS  AND  HIS  PHILOSOPHY. 

tion  to  a  virtuous  family  dangerous.  Frances  Bur¬ 
ney  published  her  “  Evelina”  anonymously.  Her 
father,  Dr.  Burney,  having  read  it,  and  little  sus¬ 
pecting  that  its  authorship  lay  with  his  demure  and 
bashful  daughter,  warmly  recommended  the  book  to 
her,  as  among  the  very  few  tales  of  the  period  that 
might  safely  be  brought  within  the  household  circle. 
“  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield,”  the  product  of  the  same 
age,  is  another  of  this  class.  It  breathes  a  purity  of 
sentiment,  and  teaches  a  lofty  morality,  which  ren¬ 
der  it  well  worthy  of  commendation,  and  to  have 
fixed  its  hold  on  the  popular  heart  through  all  the 
following  years.  There  is  no  tale  of  the  period, 
scarcely  of  any  period,  in  which  the  religious  element, 
so  prominently  and  largely  infused,  so  inwrought  into 
the  very  texture  of  the  work,  has  enjoyed  a  popu-r 
larity  so  cordial  and  undiminished.  The  good  vicar, 
unjustly  imprisoned  amongst  hardened  felons,  preach¬ 
ing  to  them  of  a  Sabbath,  pointing  out  to  them  the 
fruits  of  their  follies  and  crimes,  the  need  and  the 
way  of  reformation,  urging  upon  them  with  the 
same  fidelity  he  would  have  used  in  his  own  pulpit, 
the  laws  they  had  violated,  the  duties  they  had  ne¬ 
glected,  the  Father’s  love  which  they  had  spurned, 
but  which  might  be  won  back  to  raise  them  to  peace, 
competence,  and  honor  among  men,  and  the  tears  of 


CHARLES  DICKENS  AND  HIS  PHILOSOPHY.  339 


penitence  which  gushed  from  eyes  long  unused  to 
weep,  as  the  sympathetic  accents  of  the  good  man 
swept  chords  of  feeling  which  vicious  indulgence 
had  long  kept  unstrung,  presents  one  of  the  most 
exquisite  and  touching  pictures  to  be  found  in  the 
whole  range  of  fiction.  There  are  a  few  kindred 
touches  in  Madame  De  Stael’s  “  Corinne” — the  pas¬ 
sage,  for  example,  recounting  the  religious  service  on 
the  deck  of  a  man-of-war- — but  less  minutely  drawn 
out  and  felicitously  executed.  These  cases  are 
stated  as  exceptions,  not  often  found,  at  least  during 
the  period  mentioned.  While  the  novel  has  been 
employed  by  the  unscrupulous  as  the  channel  for 
conveying  a  lax  and  often  positively  depraving  mora¬ 
lity,  few  authors  have  had  the  boldness  to  give  their 
pages  a  tone  so  strongly  religious,  as  to  run  the  pos¬ 
sible  hazard  of  forfeiting  their  favor  with  the  public. 

But  the  very  success  of  the  Yicar  of  Wakefield, 
and  some  fictions  of  kindred  purity  of  tone,  proves 
the  groundlessness  of  such  fears.  Granting,  however, 
these  fears  to  have  been  real — granting  that  religious 
teaching,  strictly  so  called,  were  something  out  of 
place  in  the  fictitious  work,  and  that  its  prominent 
presence  there  might  have  a  damaging  effect  upon  the 
book’s  circulation,  is  a  writer  therefore  justified  in 
introducing  corrupt  and  demoralizing  principles,  and, 


340  CHARLES  DICKENS  AND  HIS  PHILOSOPHY. 

for  the  purpose  of  securing  a  wide  sale,  pandering  to 
the  coarse  tastes  and  lower  instincts  of  man — the 
animal?  Or  is  he  justified,  while  studious  not  to 
offend  by  direct  coarseness,  a  more  refined  taste,  or 
virtuous  sensibility,  to  ignore  all  religion  by  carica¬ 
turing  it  in  the  persons  of  its  professors,  or  letting 
no  opportunity  slip  to  deal  out  to  it  a  covert  stab, 
while  his  honeyed  accents  all  the  while  lull  fear  and 
suspicion  to  sleep?  This  is  a  question  in  which 
society,  through  all  its  extent,  has  a  vital  interest. 
Works  of  fiction  will  be  read.  And  where  their 
author  is  a  man  of  genius,  and  possesses,  with  Mr. 
Dickens,  the  faculty  of  charming  all  circles,  it  is 
clear  that  a  moral  influence  of  some  sort  must  be  ex¬ 
erted.  The  strength  of  this  influence,  as  has  been 
remarked,  will  be  proportioned  to  the  number  of 
readers  and  the  hold  taken  on  their  sympathies.  The 
pages  read  may  be  negatively  correct.  The  writer 
may  steer  clear  of  open  depravations,  may  insinuate 
no  odious  principles,  and  yet  fail  to  benefit  society. 
He  may  tickle  and  amuse  his  readers,  may  satirize 
fashionable  follies,  may  expose  individual  selfishness, 
and  tyranny,  and  social  abuses,  and  crimes.  All  this 
is  no  contemptible  effect.  But  it  is  slight  and  tran¬ 
sient,  compared  with  that,  consisting  in  sound  and 
wholesome  instruction,  based  on  true  and  fixed  prin- 


CHARLES  DICKENS  AND  HIS  PHILOSOPHY. 


341 


ciples — principles  not  conventional  or  earthborn,  but 
derived  from  a  divine  philosophy.  Though  religion 
he  not  expressly  taught  in  the  work  of  fiction,  there 
may  yet  be  a  teaching  akin  to  it,  making  some  ap¬ 
proximation  to  it,  and  running  in  the  same  direction. 
The  nearer  the  approach  is  to  that  high  and  im¬ 
movable  standard,  which  for  eighteen  hundred  years 
has  commanded  the  reverence  and  admiration  of  the 
world,  and  the  further  the  remove  from  the  noisome 
maxims,  to  expose  and  rectify  which  the  Christian 
rules  were  given  to  man,  the  purer  must  be  the 
pages  of  the  book,  and  the  more  benign  their  in¬ 
fluence. 

A  teaching  of  this  kind,  in  some  degree,  no  novel¬ 
ists,  of  this  age  at  least,  who  value  their  own  repu¬ 
tation,  and  the  respect  of  the  public,  dare  utterly 
despise.  Nay,  the  present  period  promises  to  inau¬ 
gurate  the  revolution  of  making  the  fictitious  work 
evangelical  in  its  tone  and  teaching.  And  the  evi¬ 
dence  is  already  furnished,  that  the  strictly  religious 
element  in  a  work  of  genius  and  power,  if  not  a 
recommendation,  is  certainly  no  barrier  to  its  wide 
popularity.*  So  it  should  be.  The  world  cannot  be 

*  This  is  clearly  shown  by  the  unparalleled  circulation  of  “  Uncle 
Tom’s  Cabin,”  than  which  no  book  of  fiction  is  more  decided  and 
earnest  in  the  presentation  of  evangelical  sentiments,  and  in  setting 


342  CHAELES  DICKENS  AND  HIS  PHILOSOPHY. 

prevented  from  reading  with  zest  the  strong  works 
of  the  imagination.  These  have  ever  asserted,  and 
will  assert,  their  mastery,  till  the  human  constitution 
is  radically  changed.  What  is  needed  and  should  he 
demanded  is,  that  such  works  he  not  only  tinctured, 
but  imbued,  with  the  lofty  virtues  and  lovely  charities 
which  give  lustre  to  character,  and  are  drawn  from 
the  purest  source  ever  opened.  And  while  we  bar 
from  the  domestic  hearth,  as  we  would  the  plague, 
that  noxious  literature  which  makes  a  mock  of  vir¬ 
tue  and  contaminates  whatever  it  touches,  we  may 
pause  before  we  frown  or  look  unkindly  on  that 
other  literature  which,  bathed  in  the  “holy  light, 
offspring  of  Heaven,  first-born,5’  exposes  vice  to  the 
detestation  it  deserves,  and  invests  the  forms  of 
Higlit,  Truth,  and  Honor,  with  robes  of  simple  grace, 
which  owe  none  of  their  beauty  to  foreign  tawdry 
decoration. 

As  a  teacher  of  the  lower  moralities,  Mr.  Dickens 
occupies  a  respectable  position,  and  within  a  certain 
range  his  influence  must  be  considered  salutary.  As 

forth  religion  as  inseparable  from  moral  excellence.  Miss  Wether- 
ell,  in  her  “  Wide,  Wide  World,”  has  successfully  done  the  same 
thing,  while  other  popular  tales  of  kindred  tone  and  spirit,  from 
female  pens  mainly,  have  helped  to  explode  the  fallacy  that  re¬ 
ligious  sentiments,  strictly,  are  out  of  place  in  the  work  of  fiction. 


CHARLES  DICKENS  AND  HIS  PHILOSOPHY  343 

a  writer  affording  amusement  to  his  readers,  and  in 
no  small  measure  either,  his  rank  is  high.  The 
mirth-moving  parts  of  his  stories  are  usually  inoffen¬ 
sive,  and  pervaded  by  a  genial  good-nature,  to 
which  the  heart  of  the  reader  insensibly  warms. 
This  inoffensiveness,  however,  is  not  uniform,  and  to 
raise  a  good  laugh  he  does  not  scruple,  occasionally, 
to  shock  the  sensibilities  of  serious  readers  by  pro¬ 
fane  allusions.  Thus  Mr.  Weller  senior,  speaking  to 
his  hopeful  son  “  Sammy,”  of  Mrs.  Weller  the  second, 
some  of  whose  associates  and  opinions  did  not  meet 
with  his  fatherly  approval,  says  : — 

“  She’s  got  hold  o’  some  inwention  for  grown  up  peo¬ 
ple  being  born  again,  Sammy,  the  new  birth  I  thinks 
they  calls  it.  I  should  wery  much  like  to  see  that 
system  in  haction,  Sammy.  I  should  wery  much  like 
to  see  your  mother-in-law  born  again.  Wouldn’t  I 
put  her  out  to  nurse  ?  ” 

The  humor  of  this  passage  will  not  redeem  or 
excuse  its  profanity  and  irreverence.  It  may  fairly 
be  asked,  what  confidence  any  reader  can  feel,  that 
one  who  can  thus  ridicule  and  trifle  with  subjects 
so  grave  and  sacred,  will  not  prove  a  treacherous 
guide  in  other  cases,  and  constantly  lead  astray? 
Mr.  Dickens  finds,  too,  in  the  clergy,  and  in  bene¬ 
volent  associative  enterprises,  ready  materials  for 


344  CHAELES  DICKENS  AND  HIS  PHILOSOPHY. 

mirth  and  caricature,  the  Reverend  Mr.  Stiggins 
standing  as  a  general  exponent  of  the  former,  the 
“  Brick  Lane  Branch  of  the  United  Grand  Junction 
Ebenezer  Temperance  Association,’7  serving  to  point 
the  finger  of  ridicule  at  the  latter.  In  truth,  the 
great  Temperance  movement  of  the  age,  whose 
benign  effects,  and  on  a  broad  scale,  are  transparent 
as  light,  may  be  fairly  said  to  be  hooted  off  the 
stage,  so  far  as  Mr.  Dickens  has  the  power  to  do  it. 
For  the  drinking  usages  of  society,  from  its  lowest  to 
its  highest  grade,  from  the  unfledged  stripling  to  the 
grave  dignitary  and  hoary  patriarch,  find  nowhere  a 
more  uniform,  earnest,  and  almost  enthusiastic  advo¬ 
cacy;  while  never  do  we  hear  a  sober  monition 
whispered :  “Look  not  upon  the  wine  when  it  is  red.” 
"Were  an  idea  of  the  clerical  order  to  be  gathered 
from  his  pages,  hardly  a  man  among  them  would  be 
found  simple-minded,  laborious,  self-denying,  and 
wholly  devoted  to  the  Master’s  cause,  but  selfish, 
sensuous,  and  hypocritical,  and  deserving  of  contempt 
rather  than  honor. 

A  similar  disingenuousness  is  betrayed  by  Mr. 
Thackeray.  He  avails  himself  of  an  absurd  caricature 
of  the  “  Clapham  Sect,”  and  of  an  elaborate  though 
hard-drawn  portrait  of  Rev.  Charles  Honeyman,  to 
bestow  subtle  thrusts  at  evangelical  sentiments  and 


CHARLES  DICKENS  AND  HIS  PHILOSOPHY.  345 


practice.  The  best  commentary  on  the  real  worth  of 
snch  sentiments  and  practice  is  found  in  a  few  of  Mr. 
Thackeray’s  own  portraits.  The  mother  of  Pendennis 
and  her  sweet  ward  Laura  Bell,  afterwards  Mrs.  Pen¬ 
dennis,  are  instances  in  point.  No  finer  pictures  ap¬ 
pear  npon  his  canvas.  But  the  symmetrical  vir¬ 
tues,  the  winning  moral  grace  and  loveliness,  which 
give  such  attraction  to  their  character,  spring  from 
the  very  religion  elsewhere  decried  in  the  persons  of 
its  disloyal  professors.  But  inconsistency  in  the 
novelist  is,  we  suppose,  as  little  marvellous  or  cen¬ 
surable,  as  those  “  licenses”  which  the  poets  some¬ 
times  indulge,  so  necessary  on  occasion  to  afford 
proper  scope  and  freedom  to  their  soaring  genius. 

Mr.  Dickens  confesses  few  obligations  to  the 
Christian  religion.  His  best  characters  are  possessed 
of  virtuous  principles,  and  are  invested  with  beauti¬ 
ful  qualities,  and  because  thus  furnished  and  adorned, 
they  challenge  our  admiration,  but  quite  irrespective 
of  the  source  whence  alone  virtue  and  moral  excel¬ 
lence  in  their  highest  exercise  can  spring.  The  light 
from  heaven  to  guide  the  pathway  and  purify  the 
mind  by  its  clear  radiance — the  divine  grace  to  re¬ 
cover  the  fallen,  and  make  the  hands  strong  in  resist¬ 
ing  temptation,  and  doing  works  of  charity  and 
goodness — the  love  of  God  as  a  predominating 

15* 


346  CHARLES  DICKENS  AND  HIS  PHILOSOPHY. 

principle  to  life-consecration  in  His  service,  and  as  a 
necessary  basis  of  all  true  benevolence — all  real  sym¬ 
metry  and  loveliness  of  character — are  nowhere  ex¬ 
pressly  recognised  and  marked  in  this  author’s  pages. 
For  aught  that  Mr.  Dickens  teaches  to  the  contrary, 
a  heathen,  without  other  lamp  than  that  of  nature, 
might  be  as  richly  adorned  with  every  virtue  and 
moral  endowment  as  any  other.  There  is  a  passage 
indeed  in  “  Dombey  and  Son  ”  in  which  appears  a 
halting,  half-way  acknowledgment  of  the  worth  and 
importance  of  the  sacred  Scriptures  in  soothing  a  sin¬ 
ner’s  last  hour  of  earth,  and  as  such  a  passage  is  rare 
exceedingly,  it  deserves  to  be  quoted. 

A  wretched  outcast  from  society,  whose  most 
familiar  companions  for  bitter  years  had  been  infamy 
and  woe,  but  whose  last  moments  are  cheered  by 
pity  and  tenderness,  makes  a  final  request  of  the 
ministering  angel  beside  her  couch — 

“  Flarriet  complied,  and  read — read  the  eternal 
book  for  all  the  weary  and  heavy-laden,  for  all  the 
wretched  fallen  and  neglected  of  this  earth — read  the 
blessed  history  in  which  the  blind,  lame,  palsied 
beggar,  the  criminal,  the  woman  stained  with  shame, 
the  shunned  of  all  our  dainty  clay,  has  each  a  portion, 
that  no  human  pride,  indifference,  or  sophistry, 
through  all  the  ages  that  this  world  shall  last,  can 


CHARLES  DICKENS  AND  HIS  PHILOSOPHY.  347 


take  away,  or  by  the  thousandth  atom  of  a  grain  re¬ 
duce — read  the  ministry  of  Him  who,  through  this 
round  of  human  life,  and  all  its  hopes  and  griefs  from 
birth  to  death,  from  infancy  to  age,  had  sweet  com¬ 
passion  for  and  interest,  in  every  scene  and  stage,  in 
every  suffering  and  sorrow.  *  *  *  She  laid  her 

hand  upon  her  breast,  murmuring  the  sacred  name 
that  had  been  read  to  her,  and  life  passed  from  her 
face  like  light  removed.” 

This  is  the  nearest  approach  that  we  recollect  in 
all  this  writer’s  volumes  to  a  distinct  acknowledgment 
that  hope  and  comfort  to  the  dying  really  spring  from 
the  “  eternal  book,”  and  from  Him  who  constitutes 
its  central  sun  and  glory — the  recognition  of  one 
passing  into  the  spirit- world  finding  some  ground  for 
expectation  of  the  future  happiness  in  that  Hame 
alone  revealed  under  heaven  as  a  sure  resting-place 
for  the  feet  when  about  to  step  from  world  to  world. 
That  Name  indeed — bald  and  infrequent  as  is  Mr. 
Dickens’s  acknowledgment  of  it — is  not  only  the 
foundation  of  the  soul’s  confidence  when  the  bands 
which  bind  it  to  earth  are  loosening,  it  is  the  foun¬ 
dation  as  well  and  source  of  all  those  bright  and 
beautiful  graces  and  charities  which  render  human 
character  most  amiable,  and  which  Mr.  Dickens 
knows  so  well  how  to  exhibit  effectively  without,  at 


348  CHARLES  DICKENS  AND  HIS  PHILOSOPHY, 

the  same  time,  referring  their  existence  and  exercise 
to  Him  whose  gift  they  are,  and  whose  spirit  they 
dimly  reflect.  For  what,  after  all,  are  those  lessons 
which  the  most  estimable  and  faultless  characters 
ever  portrayed  by  human  pen  are  supposed  to  teach 
and  exemplify?  Are  they  not  lessons  feebly  and 
afar  off  reflected  from  those  given  out  with  all  the 
emphasis  of  the  most  authoritative  teaching  in  the 
world,  illustrated  by  an  example  perfectly  upright 
and  stainless  ? 

To  cite  a  few  instances.  Do  filial  piety  and  tender¬ 
ness,  strong  under  every  discouragement  and  temp¬ 
tation,  as  in  Little  Hell,  leading  forth  her  aged  and 
dependent  grandsire,  becoming  his  protector,  walking 
by  his  side  with  blistered  feet  and  wearied  frame, 
and  showing  an  unfaltering  devotion,  a  precocious 
heroism,  amid  the  sorest  hardships  and  trials,  melt 
us  into  tears  ?  All  the  qualities  of  her  beautiful 
reverence,  fidelity,  and  devotion  are  marked,  not 
simply  in  outline  but  detail,  in  the  Christian  teach¬ 
ings,  and  enjoined  by  the  loving  voice  of  Him  who 
amid  his  own  death  pangs  commended  a  mother  to 
the  care  of  a  faithful  disciple.  Are  the  social  virtues 
attractively  exhibited,  love  and  truth  guarding  the 
portals  of  the  domestic  sanctuary,  the  soft  answer 
that  turneth  away  wrath,  made  the  assuager  of  or 


CHAKLES  DICKENS  AND  HIS  PHILOSOPHY.  349 


the  barrier  to,  the  strifes  and  discords  which  some¬ 
times  disturb  the  peace  of  families,  the  endearing 
tenderness  which  children  claim,  and  which  to  the 
right-minded  it  is  happiness  as  well  as  duty  to  render, 
invested  with  charms  which  no  counterfeit  can  reach 
— is  the  gentle  working  of  the  great  law  of  kindness 
which  stamps  beauty  upon  the  homeliest  faces,  and 
makes  the  rudest  habitation  bright  and  cheerful,  so 
pictured  that  we  feel  our  hearts  warm  towards  the 
portrait,  and  our  nature  exalted  by  the  contem¬ 
plation?  There  is  nothing  in  all  this  foreign  from 
the  spirit  or  even  letter  of  the  Christian  teachings, 
but  everything  rather  is  pointed  out  therein,  and 
made  matter  of  express  injunction.  Is  vice  set  forth 
in  colors  dark,  forbidding,  horrible — the  fierce  greed 
of  gain,  as  in  Ralph  ISfickleby  and  Arthur  Gride, 
subjecting  every  generous  impulse,  every  kindly  in¬ 
stinct  and  sentiment  to  a  single  towering  and  master 
passion — the  hateful  character  of  selfishness,  pride, 
arrogance,  and  stubborn  self-will,  which  feels  no 
sympathy  for  others’  welfare,  and  will  hear  no  advice 
and  brook  no  opposition,  as  in  Mr.  Dombey — the  in¬ 
trigues  and  duplicity  of  the  bold  bad  schemer,  whose 
crafty  devices,  as  in  James  Carker  and  Uriah  Heep, 
end  in  disappointment,  exposure,  and  merited  retri¬ 
bution — the  naturallv  downward  course  of  vice,  when 

4/  ' 


350  CHARLES  DICKENS  AND  HIS  PHILOSOPHY. 

the  restraints  of  virtue  are  overleaped,  and  the  rein 
is  fairly  given  to  lust,  and  the  heart  grows  at  length 
wholly  depraved,  urging  the  victim  to  association 
with  the  scum  and  offscouring  of  mankind,  to  burrow 
in  foul  dens  of  infamy,  wdiere  he  may  find  shelter 
from  justice,  or  a  congenial  haunt  for  his  restless 
spirit,  and  impelling  him  to  crimes  which  darkness 
alone  can  hear  to  look  upon,  and  the  hearing  of 
which  makes  the  ears  to  tingle,  as  in  the  case  of  the 
monster  Sikes  and  the  Jew  Fagin,  and  their  ghastly 
crew  of  kindred  spirits — it  is  still  in  the  “  eternal 
book,”  where  the  way  of  the  transgressor  is  pro¬ 
nounced  hard,  and  the  wages  of  sin  shown  to  he 
shame  and  anguish,  and  remorse  and  death.  Are 
honor,  magnanimity,  philanthropy,  charity  towards 
the  great  brotherhood  of  man,  in  the  humblest  of 
their  forms,  the  most  modest  and  unpretending  of 
their  manifestations, — whether  seen  in  rescuing  the 
oppressed  from  the  power  that  tramples  on  and 
grinds,  in  exposing  and  reforming  social  or  edu¬ 
cational  abuses,  or  in  the  loving,  patient  assiduity 
that  watches  beside  the  pallet  of  the  outcast  and  de¬ 
spised,  or  speaking  words  of  encouragement  and 
hope  to  the  most  scorned  and  lowest  fallen  of  all  the 
species,  pointing  them  the  while  to  the  way  which 
leads  back  the  wandering  feet  to  the  abodes  of  recti- 


CHARLES  DICKENS  AND  HIS  PHILOSOPHY.  351 


tilde  and  peace — whether  seen  in  showing  pity  to  the 
widow  and  orphan,  sheltering  the  houseless,  giving 
bread  to  the  hungry,  employment  to  those  anxious  to 
obtain  it,  and,  with  a  wide-exploring  benevolence, 
seeking  out  objects  of  distress  from  the  lanes  and 
by-places  where  sin  and  misery  hide  themselves, — 
bidding  those  found  not  to  despair,  as  though  vice 
and  woe  were  the  inevitable  conditions  of  the  present 
constitution  of  society,  and  hope  of  better  days 
hopeless  ;  hut  assuring  them  that  the  path  of  escape 
from  crime,  shame,  and  rags  is  open,  and  God’s  aid 
pledged  to  the  penitent  who  are  yet  resolute  to  sur¬ 
mount  the  difficulties  seeming  to  bar  their  return  to 
virtue,  and  will  make  their  determined  struggles  suc¬ 
cessful — are  all  these  pleasant  sights  to  see,  prompt¬ 
ing  admiration  and  sympathy  ?  The  Book  of  Truth 
exhibits  and  commends  every  such  virtue,  charity, 
self-denial,  and  high  purpose,  and  illustrates  their 
importance  and  value  by  examples  and  apologues,  as 
apposite  as  they  are  touching  and  forcible.  In  a 
word,  there  is  in  Mr.  Dickens’s  hooks  no  single  ex¬ 
cellent  quality  or  admirable  virtue,  whose  exercise 
attracts  love  and  impresses  its  beauty  on  the  heart, 
that  is  not  enjoined  expressly  or  by  implication  in 
the  Christian  Scriptures.  !Sror  is  there  any  vice, 
crime,  dishonor,  or  meanness,  exciting  horror  or  dis- 


352  CHAKLES  DICKENS  AND  HIS  PHILOSOPHY. 

gust  in  the  reader,  which  is  not  with  equal  clearness 
pointed  at,  frowned  upon,  and  interdicted.  The 
graces  and  lovelinesses  with  which  he  captivates  onr 
hearts  are  transcripts — tame  and  inadequate  copies 
— of  the  noblest  original.  The  loathsome  vices  and 
deformities  which  shock  and  horrify,  are  the  con¬ 
trasts  which  set  the  principal  figures  in  a  fairer  light, 
and  invest  them  with  additional  splendor. 

This,  however,  the  reader  is  not  told,  as  the  plot 
of  the  story  unfolds  before  him.  The  author’s  por¬ 
traits,  for  anything  the  reader  is  informed  to  the  con¬ 
trary,  are  not  simply  his  own  creations  absolutely, 
but  owe  nothing  of  their  life-like  truth  to  any  copy, 
sketch,  or  hint  derived  elsewhere.  Mr.  Dickens  pre¬ 
sents  us  with  the  qualities  and  effects  of  virtue  and 
goodness,  without  naming  or  ascribing  efficacy  to 
their  origin  and  cause.  ITe  displays  the  fair  fruits 
of  the  tree,  without  indicating  the  soil  that  nourishes 
the  wide-spreading  roots,  which  in  turn  sustain  and 
strengthen  the  trunk  and  branches,  conveying  life 
and  health  to  every  part.  As  though  these  fruits 
could  ever  have  been  matured  if  the  roots  were  torn 
up,  or  failed  to  find  nourishment  in  a  parched  and 
barren  soil,  or  the  bark  were  cut  round  and  round, 
through  which  the  life-circulation  is  carried  to  the 
extremities.  As  though  the  graces  and  charities 


i 


CHARLES  DICKENS  AND  HIS  PHILOSOPHY. 


353 


which  adorn  character,  could  flourish  and  he  fruitful 
without  being  grounded  in  right  principles,  or  fostered 
as  well  as  bestowed  by  the  plastic  hand  of  the  Great 
Author  and  Benefactor. 

It  is  this  failure  to  connect  effect  with  cause,  to 
refer  virtue  to  its  proper  source,  that  constitutes  a 
grave  defect,  a  positive  disfiguration,  in  this  writer’s 
otherwise  charming  volumes — a  disfiguration,  how¬ 
ever,  which  his  hooks  share  with  too  many  of  their 
class.  The  impression  is  apt  to  be  left  on  the  mind 
of  readers,  that  goodness,  in  its  highest  and  most 
varied  exercise,  may  exist  and  he  fruitfully  exerted 
independently — without  recognition  of  the  necessity 
of  God’s  gracious  aid  to  mould,  direct,  reform,  con¬ 
trol,  and  beautify.  Such  teaching  is  as  preposterous 
as  it  is  false.  Without  God’s  smiles,  and  succoring, 
interposing  hand,  the  exercise  of  the  highest  humani¬ 
ties  is  an  impossibility ;  and  this  truth,  we  insist, 
ought  to  be  stated,  not  in  dark  hints,  or  cold  and 
ambiguous  generalities,  but  boldly  and  unequivocally. 

Mr.  Dickens  would  have  detracted  nothing  from 
the  interest  of  his  volumes,  but  would  have  immea¬ 
surably  increased  their  wholesome  tone  and  influence 
with  all  classes  of  readers,  had  he  displayed  brightly 
the  connexion  between  goodness  and  its  cause.  How 
palpable  is  this  connexion,  and  how  pleasant  a  thing 


354  CHARLES  DICKENS  AND  HIS  PHILOSOPHY. 

to  acknowledge  it.  The  idea  of  a  benign  and  mighty 
Killing  Power  compassing  onr  way,  guiding  our  foot¬ 
steps,  sheltering  from  harm,  inspiring  good  resolves 
and  aiding  to  execute  them,  announcing  the  wise  and 
holy  laws  which  regulate  His  administration,  and 
which  encourage  every  excellence  and  frown  upon 
every  vice — is  one  that  all  men  need  to  have  con¬ 
stantly  propounded  and  enforced.  The  pages  of  the 
fictitious  work  may  derive  lustre  and  dignity  from  its 
clear  and  earnest  presentation.  As  it  is,  by  extolling 
these  nameless  virtues  and  charities,  and  running 
them  out  into  such  a  wide  variety  of  comely  forms, 
exciting  thereby  the  admiration  of  countless  readers 
— not  for  the  characters  abstractly,  but  the  virtues 
which  adorn  them — Mr.  Dickens  not  only  betrays 
obligations,  which  he  seems  reluctant  to  acknowledge, 
to  the  great  Christian  standard,  but  pays  an  involun¬ 
tary  tribute  to  its  peerless  majesty  and  worth. 

A  very  conspicuous  feature  in  Mr.  Dickens’s  vo¬ 
lumes,  is  their  wide  and  comprehensive  humanity. 
This  communicates  to  them  a  strongly-marked  indi¬ 
viduality,  and  invests  them  with  a  decided  moral 
influence.  But  what  is  humanity  without  religious 
philosophy  f  What  is  love  to  man,  if  disconnected, 
or  not  springing,  from  love  to  God  ?  The  Gospel 
connects  them  indissolubly.  But  the  humanitarians 


CHARLES  DICKENS  AND  HIS  PHILOSOPHY.  855 


of  the  age  would  make  the  highest  exercise  of  bene¬ 
volence  and  love  to  our  neighbor  to  be  self-existent, 
or  independent  of  a  higher  and  holier  principle,  per¬ 
vading  the  heart  and  shaping  the  purposes  of  men. 
This  is  not  only  to  ignore  religious  philosophy,  but  all 
philosophy  worthy  of  the  name.  It  is  absurd  as  well 
as  unpliilosophical.  The  truest  and  highest  humani¬ 
ty  that  man  can  exercise,  is  but  the  reflection  of  that 
which  lie  whose  blessed  feet  trod  the  hills  and  val¬ 
leys  of  Palestine,  on  a  sublime  mission  of  love  and 
kindness  to  the  race,  taught  in  precepts  graven  on 
human  hearts,  and  illustrated  by  many  vivid  exam¬ 
ples  besides  the  melting  story  of  the  Good  Samaritan. 

W e  live  in  a  wayward  and  selfish  world  ;  and  God 
knows  how  much  less  prone  man  is  to  weep  with 
them  that  weep,  than  toil  and  struggle  for  honor  and 
emolument.  The  history  of  every  day’s  life-struggle 
is  one  in  which  hard  and  unmitigated  selfishness  co¬ 
vers  over  with  bold  and  glaring  characters  most  of 
the  pages,  concealing  the  fainter  records  traced  there¬ 
on  through  human  tears.  The  Son  of  Man  came  to 
reform  this  selfishness ;  to  abase  the  proud ;  rebuke 
the  tyrant ;  bid  the  oppressed  and  outcast  to  hope ; 
and  to  extend  a  kindly  hand  to  aid  them  in  their 
struggles  to  rise.  He  came  to  preach  good  will,  cha¬ 
rity,  hope,  and  help  for  all  sighing  and  struggling 


356  CHARLES  DICKENS  AND  HIS  PHILOSOPHY. 

souls.  What  he  preached  he  practised,  and  hade  all 
men  to  practise  who  would  be  his  disciples — the  dis¬ 
ciples  thus  being  like  their  Master,  following  in  His 
footsteps,  reflecting  His  spirit,  ever  ready  to  a  do  good 
and  communicate,5'  living  to  love  mankind,  and  loving 
them,  because  the  essence  and  sum  of  practical  Chris¬ 
tianity  is  the  true  heaven-born  “  Charity 55  without 
which  all  theory  is  worthless,  and  faith  and  hope, 
both  in  themselves,  and  in  the  success  of  self-support¬ 
ing  reformatory  enterprises,  “  as  sounding  brass  or  a 
tinkling  cymbal.” 

There  are  few  bosoms  so  utterly  deserted  by  the 
Divinity  as  to  be  beyond  the  reach  of  humane  and 
generous  impulses.  Touch  the  proper  chord,  and  a 
responsive  vibration  ensues.  Dramatic  art  and  ima¬ 
ginative  power  can  sometimes  compass  such  effect 
where  other  methods  fail.  The  scrambling,  pushing 
throng,  as  it  rushes  by,  proclaims  the  towering  sway 
of  selfishness,  and  the  need  to  have  lessons  proceed 
from  somewhere  that  shall  withdraw  the  mind  from 
looking  supremely  and  always  at  self-interest,  and 
direct  it  to  the  welfare  of  the  species.  Such  direc¬ 
tion,  in  such  cases,  the  fictitious  work  may  give ;  and 
with  more  certainty  than  the  teachings  of  the  pro¬ 
fessed  moralist,  which  often  fail  to  reach  minds  and 
homes  to  which  the  popular  story  finds  ready  access. 


CHARLES  DICKENS  AND  HIS  PHILOSOPHY.  357 


It  is  unwise,  therefore,  to  denounce  the  work  of  ima¬ 
gination  as  such,  and  count  it  as  an  enemy.  What 
but  a  fictitious  work  is  the  Pilgrim’s  Progress  ?  Its 
characters  are  fictitious  characters,  and  its  whole 
texture  and  framework  sparkle  with  the  gems  and 
gold  of  an  exuberant  fancy.  Its  beautiful  lessons 
are  conveyed  through  a  medium  gorgeous  as  an  ori¬ 
ental  landscape.  Though  their  attractiveness  is  thus 
increased,  their  force  is  not  diminished.  And  who, 
besides  the  Devil,  and  they  who  serve  him  best, 
would  wish  this  marvellous  book  other  than  it  is,  or 
its  circulation  curtailed,  or  its  mighty  grasp  on  the 
mind  and  heart  of  the  nations  relaxed  ?  Who  does 
not  feel  the  warmest  affection  towards  its  author,  for 
the  delight,  mingled  with  highest  instruction,  which 
he  has  afforded  successive  ages,  together  with  grati¬ 
tude  to  Him  who  endowed  the  “  immortal  tinker  ” 
with  a  genius  so  extraordinary ,  an  d  made  it  so  potent 
an  ally  in  the  cause  of  religion  and  truth  ? 

There  are  those  in  the  countless  habitations  lighted 
by  the  lamp  of  genius,  who  sadly  need  the  teaching 
that  shall  refine,  and  exalt,  and  prompt  to  worthy 
purposes  and  deeds.  Why  should  barriers  be  mo¬ 
rosely  raised  to  the  entrance  of  lessons,  coming  though 
they  do  in  fictitious  garb,  calculated  to  stimulate  in¬ 
dolence  into  activity,  teach  the  cold  heart  to  relax 


358  CHARLES  DICKENS  AND  HIS  PHILOSOPHY. 

into  kindliness,  induce  sympathy  for  the  children  of 
misfortune  and  misery,  for  those  in  bonds  as  hound 
and  suffering  with  them,  lead  virtue  not  to  scorn  and 
shun,  hut  pity  and,  if  possible,  reclaim  the  outcast 
and  crime-sunken,  and  inculcate  that  the  end  of  each 
well-regulated  life  always  is,  to  love  God  and,  as  far 
as  the  willing  hands  can,  to  serve  Him,  by  doing 
good  to  His  creatures. 

Such  lessons,  made  captivating  by  the  graceful 
embellishments  of  the  fancy,  and  the  interest  belong¬ 
ing  to  dramatic  representation,  will  enter  no  home  to 
scathe  and  deprave.  If  true  lessons,  founded  on 
principles  and  proposing  ends  divinely  sanctioned, 
why  should  they  he  denied  a  hearty  hospitality? 
The  popularity  of  Mr.  Dickens  secures  him  an  au¬ 
dience,  whenever  he  chooses  to  speak,  of  thousands 
multiplied  by  thousands,  and  his  voice,  therefore,  is 
one  of  power.  The  influence  of  his  utterances  is 
spread  far  and  wide,  and  effects  must  have  been  pro¬ 
duced.  That  he  has  done  good  negatively,  by  keep¬ 
ing  his  pages  free  from  downright  depravations — that 
he  has  done  good  positively,  by  the  delineation  of 
what  has  tended  to  make  vice  odious,  and  virtue 
comely,  and  philanthropy  engaging — may  be  readily 
accorded.  But  we  are  bound  to  aver  that  he  has 
done  harm  also,  in  just  so  far  as  he  has  left  unac- 


CHAJRLES  DICKENS  AND  HIS  PHILOSOPHY  359 


knowledged,  and  kept  out  of  sight,  the  Divine  power 
and  grace  as  the  mainspring  and  support  of  human 
charities,  and  made  earth-derived  principles  and  hu¬ 
manities  a  satisfying  rule  of  action  and  life.  The 
work  is  yet  to  come  from  his  pen,  in  which  the  true 
beauty  and  integrity  of  character,  and  the  genuine 
charities  which  illustrate  it,  in  their  proper  supports 
and  dependencies,  shall  be  portrayed.  Should  he 
favor  his  readers  with  such,  he  may  yet  go  down  to 
coming  times,  not  as  one  who  has  afforded  amuse¬ 
ment  merely,  or  roused  indignation,  or  excited  horror 
or  disgust,  or  dissolved  audiences  in  sympathetic  tears, 
but  as  one  worthy  to  be  classed  amongst  the  real  and 
enduring  benefactors  of  his  kind. 


UNCLE  TOM’S  CABIN  AND  COLONIZATION. 


A  book  which,  within  nine  or  ten  months  of  its 
issuing,  has  realized  a  sale  of  one  million  of  copies, 
or  upwards,  must  needs  be  an  extraordinary  book. 
Pointing  to  its  laurels,  it  may  laugh  at  the  pains¬ 
taking  criticism  which  seeks  to  parade  before  the 
public  a  few  minor  defects  of  plot,  character,  inci¬ 
dent,  or  style.  A  good  book,  like  a  good  man,  is 
very  likely  to  be  marked  by  blemishes,  more  or  less 
prominent.  But  it  hardly  deserves,  any  more  than 
the  good  man  deserves,  that  a  few  spots,  which, 
without  a  very  close  and  microscopic  scrutiny,  would 
be  almost  undistinguishable,  should  be  swelled  into 
such  dimensions  as  to  overshadow  a  whole  cluster  of 
beauties  and  excellences.  To  our  eye  the  good 
book  and  the  good  man  shine  with  the  brighter 
lustre,  because  of  here  and  there  an  imperfection. 
The  contrasted  effect  of  light  and  shade  renders  the 
light  sweeter  and  more  refreshing.  What  is  natural 
to  man — error  and  infirmity — admonishes  us  never 
to  expect  spotlessness  in  the  fairest  development  and 
most  harmonious  proportions  of  human  character. 


UNCLE  TOM’S  CABIN  AND  COLONIZATION. 


36 1 


Is  it  marvellous  that  one,  whose  “  best  estate  is 
vanity,”  should  he  the  producer  of  works  which  pro¬ 
claim  the  conditions  annexed  to  a  fallen,  and  morally 
if  not  mentally,  diseased  humanity?  Would  it  not 
be  marvellous,  indeed,  were  the  pages  of  the  most 
excellent  book  entirely  free  from  the  defects  which 
in  a  degree  shade,  if  they  do  not  mar,  the  loveliest 
and  most  faultless  characters  that  have  adorned  the 
world  ? 

The  book  of  Mrs.  Stowe,  which  has  made  so  broad 
a  mark  upon  the  face  of  society,  far  and  wide,  has 
its  defects,  like  others  of  its  class.  It  is  far  from 
being  a  perfect  book.  A  captious,  cynical  criticism 
has  detected  scores  of  fancied  imperfections.  A 
candid  criticism  has  pointed  out  some  real  ones. 
Among  this  latter  class  it  has  not  been  discovered, 
so  far  as  we  are  aware,  that  the  book  justly  ranks 
with  that  large  class  of  fictitious  works  which  pan¬ 
der  to  the  lowest  and  worst  passions  of  the  heart; 
works  which  make  vice  attractive,  decry  virtuous 
principles,  inculcate  the  most  pernicious  moral  les¬ 
sons,  sneer  with  the  air  of  a  Mephistopheles  at  the 
social  and  domestic  charities,  and  aim  to  undermine 
the  pillars  which  uphold  all  that  is  seemly  and  good 
in  human  relationship.  Mrs.  Stowe  has  not  contri¬ 
buted  a  rill  to  swell  this  mighty  stream  of  demorali- 

16 


362  UNCLE  tom’s  cadin  and  colonization. 

zation  which  is  sweeping  over  the  land.  Her  hook 
is  removed  from  this  loathsome  crew,  far  as  the  east 
is  from  the  west.  It  has  no  affinity  with  them.  It 
scorns  and  detests  their  society.  It  could  not  live  in 
their  poison-spreading  atmosphere.  It  is  their  ear¬ 
nest  and  determined  antagonist  at  all  points  and  at 
all  times.  It  is  the  cherished  inmate  of  virtuous 
homes.  The  moral  and  religious  portion  of  society 
have  received  it  with  no  suspicion  or  dread  that  a 
deadly  sting  lay  concealed  amongst  its  leaves.  Ho 
criticism  has  discovered  that  its  aim  is  to  unsettle 
moral  principle,  relax  salutary  restraint,  and  thus 
corrupt  and  do  serious  injury  to  those  who,  uncon¬ 
scious  of  harm,  should  explore  its  contents.  What¬ 
ever  other  objections  may  he  fairly  alleged  against 
it,  its  being  a  vehicle  of  questionable  and  depraving 
morality  is  not  among  the  number. 

Hor  does  this  hook  owe  its  unexampled  popularity 
to  the  fact  of  its  being  an  Abolition  hook.  Ho  judg¬ 
ment  could  he  more  erroneous.  Scores  of  portraitures 
have  been  given  to  the  reading  world,  displaying 
slavery  in  its  worst  characteristics  and  features,  and 
drawn  in  colors  more  deeply  dark  and  repulsive  than 
any  presented  in  Mrs.  Stowe’s  hook.  But  the  sub¬ 
ject,  however  variously  and  vigorously  treated,  has 
not  been  found  sufficiently  attractive  to  insure  any 


UNUL'E  TDM’S  CABIN  AND  COLONIZATION.  363 


fascinated  or  very  extended  attention  to  the  several 
treatises,  or  guard  them  against  the  fate  of  most  of 
the  ephemeral  publications  of  their  class.  The  intrin¬ 
sic  qualities  of  this  hook  have  done  for  it,  in  spite  of 
its  subject,  what  the  subject  simply  never  has  done 
or  could  do  apart  from  the  qualities.  It  is  a  hook 
of  extraordinary  power,  judged  by  the  usual  tests 
which  measure  the  excellence  of  this  species  of  com¬ 
position.  The  easy  march  and  vigor  of  its  narrative 
• — the  sprightliness  of  the  dialogue — the  vivacity  of 
its  descriptions — the  naturalness  of  its  characters, 
some  of  which  are  evidently  drawn  from  no  else¬ 
where  found  copy,  hut  original  and  unique,  impress 
the  mind  instantly  and  indelibly  by  the  freshness 
and  power  of  their  delineation — the  happy  and 
graceful  touches  by  which  mirth  is  irresistibly  pro¬ 
voked,  or  “  the  water  made  to  stand  in  the  eyes 
withal,”  as  quaint  and  honest  JohnBunyan  expresses 
it — are  among  the  by  no  means  common  attributes 
which  go  to  explain  the  secret  of  Uncle  Tom’s 
fame. 

But  this  is  not  all,  nor  the  most  important.  The 
book  is  instinct  with  a  high  purpose,  the  spirit  of 
which  breathes  from  every  page — the  electric  glow 
of  whose  earnestness  is  communicated  to  every 
reader ;  while  more  than  all,  the  large,  hopeful 


364  UNCLE  tom’s  cabin  and  colonization. 

spirit  of  humanity  pervades  it  palpably,  whose  mis¬ 
sion  it  is  to  weep  with  the  weeping,  to  look  pityingly 
upon  the  outcast,  the  friendless,  the  lowly,  the 
wretched,  the  oppressed,  of  whatever  color  or  race, 
and  put  forth  a  helping  hand  to  succor  or  raise  the 
lowest  fallen  and  most  degraded  of  our  species.  Ho 
book  that  combines  these  qualities,  gracefully  exhi¬ 
bited,  can  fail  utterly ;  any  hook  that  has  them  deli¬ 
neated  with  remarkable  skill  and  fidelity  to  nature, 
must  succeed  well — the  precise  complexion,  lineage, 
or  affinities  of  the  subject  of  it  being,  for  the  most 
part,  indifferent.  The  rude  Hottentot,  the  Siberian 
exile,  the  half-famished  Irish  tenant-at-will,  the 
English  subterranean  coal-heaver,  or  she  whose 
weary  fingers  keep  mournful  time  to  the  “  Song  of 
the  Shirt,”  excite,  through  the  qualities  in  question,  as 
warm  an  interest  and  rise  to  as  lofty  a  stature  of 
heroism  as  the  American  slave. 

It  is  absurd  to  object  to  this  book  that  its  cha¬ 
racters  are  extravagantly  drawn,  colored  too  gorgeous¬ 
ly,  and  hence  unnatural,  as  though  the  masses  of  its 
readers,  pronouncing  the  portraits  faithful  by  a  wTell- 
nigh  unanimous  verdict  of  approval,  could  be  im¬ 
posed  on  by  an  exuberance  of  flaunting  and  tawdry 
decorations.  Is  not  a  little  fancy  coloring  incidental 
to,  if  not  inseparable  from,  the  whole  class  of  fictitious 


UNCLE  TOM’S  CABIN  AND  COLONIZATION.  365 


compositions?  Are  not  the  most  exemplary  books  of 
this  sort  open  in  a  degree  to  the  same  objection? 
Is  there  any  tale  within  the  whole  range  of  any 
reader’s  recollection,  highly  finished  as  a  whole,  and 
having  individual  portraits  seeming  to  he  almost 
faultless,  that  would  not,  if  analyzed  feature  by 
feature,  betray  the  too  free  use  of  the  brighter  hues 
and  tints  ?  Mrs.  Stowe’s  book,  though  no  exception 
to  the  rule,  is  yet  more  life-like  in  its  character 
sketching  than  most  moral  tales  admitted  to  virtuous 
homes,  whose  high  excellence  is  proclaimed  by  their 
high  and  enduring  popularity. 

Take,  for  instance,  the  two  extremes,  Uncle  Tom, 
and  Simon  Legree,  the  extreme  of  black  excellence, 
and  the  extreme  of  white  brutality.  Is  the  former 
character  impossibly  good?  To  answer  “yes,”  is  to 
reproach  our  Christianity,  by  decrying  the  claims  it 
puts  forth,  and  the  influence  it  asserts  in  transform¬ 
ing  the  principles  and  life  of  Jew  and  Greek,  bond 
and  free,  black  and  white.  Its  renovating  power  is 
promised  and  confined  to  no  race,  no  caste  or  color. 
It  may  exalt  the  down-trodden  African  into  a  Chris¬ 
tian  hero  and  martyr,  as  well  as  the  man  of  a  differ¬ 
ent  race  or  skin.  Only  grant  to  Uncle  Tom  since¬ 
rity,  with  ordinary  intelligence,  and  there  is  nothing 
impossible  or  unprecedented  about  the  rest.  The 


366  UNCLE  tom’s  cabin  and  colonization. 

Power  that  nerved  Paul  in  the  face  of  stripes, 
scourgings,  stonings,  hardships,  and  indignities  innu¬ 
merable  to  say,  “  None  of  these  things  move  me, 
neither  count  I  my  life  dear  unto  myself,”  can  infuse 
into  the  lowliest  of  his  children  equal  energy  of  en¬ 
durance  for  the  truth.  “The  African  Servant,”  as 
he  appears  in  the  well-known  tract  of  Legh  Rich¬ 
mond,  is  a  fact,  not  a  fiction,  in  the  whole  career  of 
his  wonderful  piety.  And  the  noble  black  man 
whose  heroism  Mr.  Everett  characterized,  in  his 
recent  Colonization  Address,  as  worthy  of  a  monu¬ 
ment,  is  the  real  flesh  and  bones  exponent  of  such  as 
Uncle  Tom.* 

So  of  Legree.  Miscreants  of  his  class,  cold-blooded, 
tyrannical,  vindictive,  and  unrelenting,  are  to  be  found 
everywhere.  We  have  them  at  the  North,  where 
public  sentiment  and,  what  with  them  is  more  potent, 
the  law’s  impending  terrors,  hardly  suffice  to  check, 
and  do  not  always  repress, .  their  brutal  rage  and 
remorseless  violence.  Make  them  irresponsible,  and 
would  the  “  milk  of  human  kindness”  course  so  gently 
through  their  veins,  as  to  render  them  less  fierce 
and  fiendish  than  the  blood-thirsty  tyrant  Simon  Le¬ 
gree?  He  is  simply  an  illustration  of  the  corrupt 
tree,  bearing  fruit  after  its  kind,  and  the  crop  a 


*  Written  in  1835. 


UNCLE  TOM’S  CABIN  AND  COLONIZATION. 


367 


luxuriant  one.  Surely  we  need  not  travel  to  the 
banks  of  the  Red  River  to  find  creditable,  full-blown 
specimens  of  the  abhorrent  class. 

Not  to  vindicate,  however,  or  commend  a  book, 
which  has  had  already  abundant  attention  of  this 
sort  bestowed  upon  it,  our  further  design  in  this 
paper  is,  to  notice  what  we  do  not  remember  to  have 
seen  specially  jiointed  out  elsewhere,  the  character  it 
bears  as  an  ally  of  Colonization.  Abolition  as  the 
book  is  pronounced  to  be  in  its  tone  and  animus , 
abolitionist  as  the  authoress  shows  herself  to  be, 
when  she  steps  forth  from  behind  the  scenes  and 
lectures  us  didactically  in  her  own  person,  she  yet 
warmly  espouses  the  cause  of  Colonization,  in  the 
person  of  one  of  her  favorite  personages,  and  urges 
arguments  in  its  behalf  that  would  do  no  discredit  to 
President  Roberts  or  Mr.  Pinney.  George  Harris 
states  very  clearly  and  cogently  the  reasons  which 
prevent  him  from  remaining  in  America,  and  impel 
him  to  cast  in  his  lot  with  the  hopeful  freemen  of  the 
African  Republic.  We  commend  those  reasons  not 
only  to  the  people  of  his  own  race  who,  being  free, 
yet  remain  among  us,  but  to  those  querulous  pale¬ 
faces,  who  having  never  been  slaves,  except  to  their 
own  passions  and  prejudices,  find  strange  delight  in 
decrying  and  abusing  one  of  the  wisest  and  noblest 


o68  UNCLE  tom’s  cabin  and  colonization. 

schemes  of  philanthropy  which  the  age  or  any  age 
can  boast.  Mrs.  Stowe  is  scarcely  kind  or  true  to 
her  own  peculiar  associates  and  friends.  They  de¬ 
pict — many  of  them  at  least — the  Colonization  Society 
as  the  incarnation  of  everything  that  is  preposterous, 
cruel,  and  corrupt — an  engine  of  spurious  philan¬ 
thropy,  against  which  every  kind  of  weapon  that  may 
do  it  harm  may  be  fitly  employed.  She  presents  it 
in  colors  so  soft  and  delicate,  that  its  worst  enemies, 
we  should  suppose,  would  find  it  hard  not  to  fall 
desperately  in  love  with  it.  To  the  Garrison  and 
Phillips  school  it  is  aa  mighty  engine  of  iniquity,” 
and  even  to  the  less  invective-dealing  Gerrit  Smith, 
whose  general  benevolence  we  do  not  call  in  ques¬ 
tion,  it  is  so  unlovely  and  pernicious  an  institution, 
that  his  meek  lips  characterize  it,  in  his  letter  to 
Washington  Hunt,  for  instance,  in  terms  of  such 
gross  and  repulsive  bitterness,  that  we  do  not  care, 
by  transcribing  them,  to  see  their  copy  reproduced. 
Here  is  antagonism  between  Mrs.  Stowe  and  her 
abolition  “lovers.”  It  is  not  for  us  to  reconcile  or 
explain  it.  We  mark  the  fact,  leaving  it  for  the 
parties  opposed  to  compound  their  differences  as  they 
may. 

Hor  is  this  difference  a  mere  unimportant  accident. 
It  touches  principles  deep-seated  and  tenaciously 


UNCLE  TOM^S  CABIN  AND  COLONIZATION.  369 

held.  The  immediate  emancipation  of  all  slaves, 
without  colonization,  fraught  as  it  must  be  with  evils 
to  the  liberated  themselves  and  to  the  country,  to 
which  the  most  stolid  cannot  be  insensible,  seems  to 
proclaim  the  event  an  impossibility  on  considerations 
humane  as  well  as  patriotic.  To  liberate,  with  the  view 
of  swelling  the  numbers  of  free  citizens  of  Liberia, 
as  soon  as  such  a  step  can  be  properly  taken,  is  what 
every  liberty  and  union-loving  citizen  desires  as 
ardently  as  Mrs,  Stowe,  In  the  name  of  such,  we 
would  thank  her  for  the  good  word  she  has  spoken  in 
this  direction,  and  the  wide  circulation  she  has  given 
her  well-put  argument.  With  her  womanly  instincts, 
thus  warmly  enlisted  for  colonization,  we  almost 
wonder  that  in  certain  quarters  her  orthodoxy  on 
vital  questions,  or  those  considered  such,  has  not  been 
called  in  question.  With  -the  views  she  has  promul¬ 
gated  on  colonization,  she  can  hardly  fail  to  respond 
to  the  remark  of  Mr.  Webster  in  his  speech  in  the 
Senate  of  March  7th,  1850,  that,  of  the  eighty  mil¬ 
lions  of  dollars  received  into  the  public  treasury,  the 
proceeds  of  the  public  lands  ceded  to  the  Govern¬ 
ment  by  Virginia,  and  this  sum  swelled  to  two  hun¬ 
dred  millions  by  proceeds  of  the  lands  coming  from 
the  same  source,  as  yet  unsold,  he  was  willing  that 
Virginia  and  the  South,  if  they  saw  fit  to  relieve 

16* 


3 to  UNCLE  tom’s  cabin  and  colonization. 

themselves  from  their  free  colored  population,  should 
have  any  adequate  sum  paid  them  for  the  trans¬ 
portation  and  comfortable  settlement  of  this  popu¬ 
lation  on  their  native  shores.  We  go  with  Mrs. 
Stowe  to  make  slaves  freemen  as  soon  as  practicable, 
and  then  colonize  them  where  they  may  enjoy  a  dis¬ 
tinct  nationality,  and  are  strangers  to  the  dwarfing 
influences  growfing  out  of  color  and  caste. 

One  other  remark  and  we  have  done.  What  is 
known  and  designated  as  evangelical  religion,  is  set 
forth  and  illustrated  in  Mrs.  Stowe’s  book  by  life- 
examples  of  the  most  spirited  and  striking  character. 
The  religious  novel,  strictly  so  called,  is  rare  indeed, 
and  we  are  acquainted  with  none  which  approaches, 
more  nearly  than  this,  our  idea  of  wThat  one  of  the 
kind  ought  to  be.  The  “Evelina”  of  Frances  Bur¬ 
ney,  Goldsmith’s  “  Yicar  of  Wakefield,”  some  of  Mrs. 
Sherwood’s  and  Hannah  More’s  tales,  are,  with  all 
their  purity  of  tone  and  loftiness  of  moral  incul¬ 
cation,  less  religious  than  this,  in  the  direct  sense  of 
teaching  what  Christianity  is,  and  what  it  requires, 
how  personal  responsibility  rests  upon  each,  and  the 
Divine  mercy  may  be  compassed  by  all.  Mrs. 
Shelby  is  a  Christian,  Evangeline  is  a  Christian,  Eliza 
Harris  is  a  Christian,  while  her  husband  and  the 
little  imp  Topsy  become  converts  to  a  Gospel  which 


UNCLE  TOM’S  CABIN  AND  COLONIZATION.  371 


regards  not  the  person  as  anything,  but  childlike 
faith  in  the  Crucified  as  the  great  requisite  for  offer¬ 
ing  the  incense  of  a  “  sweet  smelling  savor  ”  to  Him 
whose  smile  is  the  petitioner’s  pardon  and  peace. 
The  Christianity  which  they  profess  and  exemplify  is 
the  very  same  that  exalts  and  strengthens  the  purest 
Christian  society,  and  adorns  the  most  refined  and 
virtuous  household. 

The  wide  circulation  of  this  book,  exhibiting  as  it 
does  the  grace  and  grandeur  of  Christian  principle 
and  life,  can  hardly  fail  to  rebuke  and  counteract  the 
foul  issues  of  an  unscrupulous  press,  toiling  and 
groaning  to  scatter  abroad  seeds  from  which  spring 
baneful  trees,  whose  unfolding  “  leaves  ”  are  for  any¬ 
thing  but  the  “  healing  of  the  nations.”  The  time  is 
probably  far  enough  off  that  tales  will  no  longer  be 
read ;  and  since  the  world  will  read  them,  let  such 
be  presented  as  are  not  only  healthy-toned  them¬ 
selves,  but  tend  to  beget  distaste  and  loathing  of 
those  which  breathe  pollution  from  every  page. 
They  who  are  wont  to  respire  a  pure  atmosphere, 
become  nauseated  with  the  first  contact  with  a  foul 
and  fetid  air.  The  swarming  issues  of  a  filth-reeking 
press  are  among  the  most  noisome  and  crying 
nuisances  that  afflict  the  land.  Whoever  succeeds 
in  abating  the  evil,  deserves  golden  opinions  from 


372  UNCLE  tom’s  cabin  and  colonization. 

the  orderly  and  decorous.  And  if  Mrs.  Stowe’s 
book  imposed  no  other  obligations  on  society,  the 
telling  blow  which  it  has  struck  in  behalf  of  this 
great  and  good  work,  the  effects  of  which  must  be 
widely  wholesome,  entitles  it  to  a  high  place  in  the 
regards  of  all  true  hearts. 


THE  PITCAIRN  ISLANDERS. 


“  The  white  man  landed! — -Need  the  rest  be  told? 

The  New  World  stretched  its  dark  hand  to  the  Old ; 

Each  was  to  each  a  marvel,  and  the  tie 
Of  wonder  warmed  to  better  sympathy.” 

Byron’s  “  Island 

In  latitude  25°  4/  South,  and  longitude  180°  8/ 
W est,  is  situated  the  most  interesting  island,  perhaps, 
of  all  those  picturesque  groups  which  have  reposed 
for  ages  upon  the  placid  bosom  of  the  Pacific.  In 
size  it  is  utterly  insignificant,  a  mile  and  a  half  being 
its  greatest  length,  four  miles  and  a  half  its  circum¬ 
ference.  Its  surface  is  irregular,  in  part  moun¬ 
tainous  ;  its  soil  favorable  to  the  growth  of  vegeta¬ 
bles.  Tropical  trees  and  fruits,  such  as  the  cocoanut, 
plantain,  banyan,  and  bread-fruit,  flourish  there  with 
spontaneous  vigor,  though  nothing  either  in  its  pro¬ 
ducts  or  appearance  would  serve  to  distinguish  it 
remarkably  from  many  a  wild  sister  whose  lullaby  is 
the  tuneful  waters  of  the  same  mighty  sea.  The  in¬ 
terest  which  attaches  to  it  arises  from  its  association 
with  the  people  who  have  their  home  and  religious 


374 


THE  PITCAIRN  ISLANDERS. 


altars  there,  and  draw  nourishment  from  its  bosom. 
Few  histories  that  we  have  happened  to  read  are 
more  striking  and  instructive  than  theirs.  F ew  spots 
throughout  the  surrounding  wastes  of  heathendom, 
so  bright  and  beautiful  as  this  in  the  rays  of  the 
Christian  sun,  proclaim  the  plastic  power  of  that 
gentle  faith  which  works  by  love  and  purifies  the 
heart.  And  if  we  would  have  a  fine  example  of  the 
evolution  of  good  out  of  apparent  evil,  of  the  “  wrath 
of  man”  praising  Him  who  restrains  “  the  remainder 
of  wrath,”  the  eye  need  only  turn  to  Pitcairn’s 
Island,  and  find  the  object  of  its  search. 

The  history  of  the  people  dwelling  there  may  be 
easily  condensed,  though  the  details,  if  space  did 
not  forbid,  would  richly  repay  those  not  familiar  with 
them  for  the  time  devoted  to  their  perusal  A  The 
ship  Bounty,  Captain  Bligh,  sailed  from  Spithead, 
England,  December  23,  1787.  Her  destination  was 
the  Pacific  Ocean ;  her  mission,  to  collect  plants  of 

*  These  details  may  be  found — where  the  materials  for  this  arti¬ 
cle  have  been  gathered— in  a  book  by  Rev.  Thomas  B.  Murray,  pub¬ 
lished  in  London,  entitled  “  Pitcairn.  The  Island,  the  People,  and 
the  Pastor,  <fcc. and  also  to  some  extent  in  an  article  in  Black¬ 
wood,  copied  into  the  Eclectic  Magazine,  entitled,  “  The  Paradise  in 
the  Pacific;”  the  gem  of  the  number,  as  the  island  described,  is  to  a 
Christian  eye  the  gem  of  the  ocean. 


THE  PITCAIRN  ISLANDERS. 


375 


the  bread-fruit  tree,  the  design  being  to  attempt  the 
cultivation  of  it  in  Europe.  The  vessel  reached 
Otaheite  (now  Tahiti)  on  the  26th  of  the  following 
October,  and  remained  six  months,  during  which  the 
warm-hearted  natives  treated  the  ship’s  company  in 
the  most  hospitable  and  friendly  manner,  and  fur¬ 
nished  them  every  facility  for  the  prosecution  of  the 
object  of  their  enterprise.  The  plants  were  at  length 
collected,  the  anchor  weighed,  and  the  prow  of  the 
vessel  pointed  homeward.  Everything  promised  a 
successful  voyage  and  prosperous  return,  when,  on 
the  27th  of  April,  Captain  Bligh,  without  the  small¬ 
est  premonition,  without  a  single  suspicion  having 
been  harbored  of  any  of  his  crew’s  ill-designs,  was 
woke  out  of  sleep  by  the  vision  of  his  cabin  full  of 
armed  men,  by  whom  he  was  seized,  bound,  and 
insultingly  treated.  The  design  of  the  mutineers 
was  soon  apparent.  Mr.  Bligh,  with  eighteen  of  the 
crew  who  remained  loyal,  was  thrust  into  the  ship’s 
launch,  a  boat  twenty-three  feet  long  by  six  or  seven 
wide,  with  a  scanty  supply  of  provisions  and  water, 
a  few  cutlasses,  a  small  quantity  of  canvas,  cordage, 
&c.,  and  cut  adrift  in  that  almost  helpless  condition 
upon  the  treacherous  waves.  After  incredible  hard¬ 
ships,  and  some  hail  breadth  escapes,  he  arrived,  with 
eleven  of  his  surviving  comrades,  in  England.  His 


376 


THE  PITCAIRN  ISLANDERS. 


story  excited  profound  attention,  and  a  vessel  was 
speedily  despatched  in  quest  of  the  mutineers,  with 
strict  orders  that  the  search  should  be  a  thorough 
one,  and  the  guilty  men,  wherever  they  might  have 
found  a  refuge,  captured,  or,  if  this  were  not  practi¬ 
cable,  slain. 

What  became  of  the  mutineers,  meanwhile  ?  Lord 
Byron  has  told  us,  in  the  beautiful  poem  from  which 
the  lines  prefixed  to  this  article  are  taken,  that  they 
sailed  at  once  for  Otaheite ;  established  themselves  in 
that  delightful  home  ;  were  found  there  by  the 
winged  avenger  sent  over  the  seas  to  seize  on  and 
destroy ;  were  hunted,  shot  down,  captured,  killed, 
almost  to  the  last  man — Fletcher  Christian  himself, 
the  prompter  and  master-spirit  of  the  mutiny,  throw¬ 
ing  himself  down  from  a  high  ledge  of  rock,  where, 
with  one  or  two  comrades  he  had  defended  himself 
desperately  while  defence  was  possible — and  that 
when  his  mangled  body  dropped  into  the  sea, 
bathing  the  fury  of  the  avengers,  the  work  of  pursuit 
and  blood  was  over,  for  no  remaining  mutineer  was 
found  to  meet  death  or  wear  chains.  One ,  according 
to  the  poet,  escaped  by  following  in  the  wake  of  his 
dusky  bride,  who,  plunging  and  swimming  beneath  the 
waves,  conducted  him  to  a  submarine  cavern,  whose 
rocky  sides  formed  a  snug  shelter  and  secure  asvlum. 


THE  PITCAIRN  ISLANDERS.  377 

But  tlie  poetry  of  this  account  is  not  very  accor¬ 
dant  with  historical  accuracy.  A  part  of  the  muti¬ 
neers,  indeed,  made  Otaheite  their  home  ;  hut  a 
part,  of  whom  Christian  was  one,  sought  an  asylum 
elsewhere.  Himself  and  eight  of  his  comrades,  with 
their  Otaheitan  wives,  and  several  others  of  the 
natives,  in  all  twenty-eight  persons,  sailed  northward 
twelve  hundred  miles,  and  landed  on  Pitcairn’s 
Island,  then  perfectly  solitary,  so  far  as  man’s  voice 
or  presence  was  concerned,  determining  to  make  it 
their  future  abode.  The  Bounty,  which  had  trans¬ 
ported  them  hither,  was  broken  up  soon  after  the 
landing,  and  their  purpose  of  making  this  dreary 
spot  their  lifelong  home  thus  shown  to  be  stern  and 
inflexible.  There  was  to  be  no  looking  back,  no 
escape  from  the  ocean-bound  prison  into  whose  rocky 
arms  they  had  voluntarily  entered. 

And  now  the  bitter  fruits  of  their  crimes  began  to 
appear,  and  grow  rapidly  toward  maturity.  The 
wind  had  been  sown,  the  whirlwind  was  about  to  be 
reaped.  The  fierce  passions  which  had  flowered  in 
mutiny  and  rebellion,  matured  in  discord,  strife,  per¬ 
sonal  collisions,  and  bloodshed.  Ferocious  feuds  and 
sanguinary  frays  arose  between  the  Europeans  and 
savages.  The  latter,  prompted  by  hate  and  jealousy, 
plotted  the  destruction  of  the  former.  The  projected 


378 


THE  PITCAIRN  ISLANDERS. 


massacre  was  disclosed  to  the  white  men  by  their 
dusky  wives,  and  the  blow  fell  upon  the  heads  of  the 
baffled  projectors.  Christian,  however,  with  four  of 
his  comrades,  fell  before  the  malice  of  the  Otaheitans 
within  a  year  of  the  landing,  while  the  murderers 
were  slain  in  turn  by  the  arms  of  their  surviving  com¬ 
panions.  Without  tracing  the  dark  detail  farther,  let 
it  suffice  to  say,  that  only  two  of  the  fifteen  males 
who  had  landed  from  the  Bounty  died  a  natural 
death ;  the  rest  all  fell  victims  to  those  licentious  pas¬ 
sions  which,  unrestrained  by  any  holy  principle,  had 
converted  the  little  isle  into  an  arena  on  which  Satan’s 
champions  fought  and  destroyed  each  other  till  hell 
grew  jubilant  at  the  sight. 

One  of  the  survivors,  and  the  last  of  the  nine 
English  settlers,  was  John  Adams,  whose  coincident 
association  with  the  clarum,  et  venerabile  nomen  of  our 
history  is  not  the  only  or  most  striking  thing  about 
his  own.  He  had  been  a  high  criminal  in  the  sight 
of  God  and  man,  had  participated  in  the  nefarious 
deeds  which  rendered  him  an  outcast  from  his  coun¬ 
try,  branded  by  its  moral  sentiment,  condemned  by 
its  laws.  He  had  witnessed,  by  living  among,  the 
scenes  of  violence  and  blood,  from  the  frightful 
effects  of  which  he  had  only  escaped  with  his  life 
through  the  Infinite  mercy.  What  he  had  been, 


THE  PITCAIRN  ISLANDERS. 


379 


what  he  had  seen,  what  he  now  was,  became  the 
subject  of  much  deep  and  harrowing  reflection.  He 
had  enjoyed  the  advantages  of  early  Christian  teach¬ 
ing.  He  had  known  the  good,  though  he  pursued 
the  evil.  Out  of  the  wreck  of  the  Bounty  a  Bible 
and  prayer-book  had  been  preserved,  and  had  now 
become  the  possession— treasures  more  valuable  than 
gold — of  John  Adams.  He  applied  himself  to  the 
study  of  the  Book,  of  all  books  the  most  inestimable. 
The  divine  light  beamed  full  upon  his  understanding. 
The  prayers  that  he  offered  there  on  his  little  sea¬ 
girt  home  rose  none  the  less  audibly  for  the  ocean’s 
thunder  that  seemed  to  overbear  the  contrite  sinner’s 
faint  and  tremulous  accents.  Faith  bore  them  pre¬ 
vailingly  to  the  throne.  The  gracious  answer  came, 
and  the  wearied,  torn  heart  found  rest  and  j  oy.  He 
was  a  changed  man.  The  bold  mutineer  had  become 
loyal  at  last.  Christ  was  his  Captain,  and  the  love  he 
bore  his  great  leader  would  secure  his  good  faith, 
his  devoted  services,  his  unfaltering  zeal,  to  the  last 
hour  of  his  mortal  life. 

The  sincerity  of  his  faith  was  soon  shown  by  his 
works.  A  mixed  progeny  had  taken  the  places  of 
their  hapless  parents ;  but  the  half-English,  half- 
Otaheitan  amalgam  was  animated  by  a  soul  as 
precious  as  any  that  breathed  from  the  whitest  face. 


380 


THE  PITCAIRN  ISLANDERS. 


The  aim  and  prayer  of  John  Adams  was  the  conver¬ 
sion  of  these  young  semi-pagans  ;  and  to  effect  this  he 
began  at  once  to  instruct  them  in  the  principles  of 
the  doctrine  of  Christ.  Morning  and  evening  prayers 
were  offered  by  the  devout  teacher  from  the  midst 
of  his  island  family.  The  Sacred  Scriptures  were 
read,  explained,  enforced,  with  simple  earnestness 
and  a  constancy  that  never  wearied ;  and  the  fruit  of 
this  pious  assiduity  soon  appeared.  The  Bible  be¬ 
came  to  these  simple-hearted  islanders  inestimably 
dear.  The  lessons  they  were  wont  to  hear  from  the 
lips  of  their  rude  but  venerated  teacher  were  more 
delightful  than  food  or  recreation,  or  treasures  reck¬ 
oned  by  them  most  valuable.  The  mine  of  celestial 
truth  opened  to  their  wondering  gaze  poured  forth 
its  uncounted  wealth,  sparkling,  varied,  precious, 
though  hands  the  least  skilful,  and  implements  the 
rudest,  were  employed  to  disinter  it. 

The  result  is  soon  told.  The  islanders  became 
Christian,  not  in  name  only,  but  in  very  truth,  and 
deed.  When  sixteen  years  afterwards  (1816)  two 
English  men-of-war  approached  the  island,  and  a 
canoe  with  two  men  in  it,  savages  apparently,  dashed 
through  the  surf,  and,  approaching  the  side  of  one  of 
the  vessels,  exclaimed,  “  Won’t  you  heave  us  a  rope 
now  ?  ”  the  astonishment  of  the  sailors  was  beyond 


THE  PITCAIRN  ISLANDERS. 


381 


bound.  But  greater  still  was  the  marvel  when, 
having  come  on  board,  and  being  invited  by  the  cap¬ 
tain,  Sir  Thomas  Staines,  to  go  below  and  partake  of 
some  food,  one  of  the  young  men  before  eating  was 
seen  to  place  his  hands  in  a  posture  of  devotion,  and 
say  solemnly,  “For  what  we  are  going  to  receive, 
the  Lord  make  us  truly  thankful.” 

What  the  captain  saw  on  going  ashore  fully  equalled 
in  the  marvellous  what  had  already  transpired.  He 
became  the  guest  of  John  Adams,  and  was  treated 
with  the  most  warm-hearted  and  touching  hospitality. 
The  number  of  grown-up  people  in  the  island  at 
this  time  was  forty-six.  Their  personal  appearance 
was  very  striking.  The  young  men  were  athletic, 
manly,  finely  formed,  with  countenances  full  of  intel¬ 
ligence  and  frankness  ;  the  young  women  as  modest 
as  beautiful,  with  “  teeth  like  ivory,  even,  regular, 
without  a  single  exception ;  and  all  of  them,  both 
male  and  female,  had  the  most  marked  English 
features.”  “  Their  little  houses  were  models  of  com¬ 
fort  and  cleanliness,  and  the  grounds  all  around  were 
carefully  cultivated.  The  utmost  harmony  prevailed 
in  their  little  society.  They  were  simple,  sincere, 
affectionate,  and  pious,  and  most  exemplary  in  dis¬ 
charging  their  religious  duties.”  “  Their  reverence 
for  the  Sabbath  would  shame  many  a  highly  civilized 


382 


THE  PITCAIRN  ISLANDERS. 


Christian  community.  It  was  indeed  ‘kept  holy,’  a 
day  of  rest  in  truth,  and  of  cheerful  reverence  towards 
the  Most  High.  Their  services  were  conducted  in 
strict  conformity  with  the  usages  of  the  Church  of 
England,  the  prayers  being  read  by  old  Adams,  and 
the  lessons  by  one  appointed  for  that  purpose.” 

In  1825,  when  Captain  Beech ey  visited  the  island, 
he  bore  witness  to  the  religious  character  of  the  peo¬ 
ple  in  these  words  :  “  These  excellent  people  appear 
to  live  together  in  perfect  harmony  and  contentment ; 
to  be  virtuous,  religious,  cheerful,  and  hospitable  even 
beyond  the  limits  of  prudence  ;  to  be  patterns  of 
conjugal  and  parental  affection,  and  to  have  very  few 
vices.  We  remained  with  them  several  days,  and 
their  unreserved  manners  gave  us  the  fullest  oppor¬ 
tunity  of  becoming  acquainted  with  any  faults  they 
might  have  possessed.” 

John  Adams,  the  good  old  patriarch,  through 
whose  noiseless  but  most  efficient  labors,  under  God, 
this  wondrous  result  had  been  achieved,  died  in  1829, 
and  the  mantle  of  pastor,  surgeon ,  and  schoolmaster , 
fell  upon  George  IIitnn  Hobbs.  Mr.  Hobbs’  early 
career  space  forbids  us  to  recount.  Suffice  it  to  say,  he 
had  been  tried  over  and  over  again  in  the  furnace  of 
trials  such  as  man  is  rarely  called  to  encounter ;  made 
Pitcairn’s  his  home  con  amore  /  determined  when  he 


THE  PITCAIRN  ISLANDERS. 


383 


came  to  identify  himself  with  and  devote  himself  to 
the  interests  of  its  simple-minded  people  ;  secured  the 
full  confidence  of  Adams,  and  after  his  death,  which 
occurred  within  a  year  of  bTobbs’  arrival,  that  of  the 
people  themselves ;  entered  with  zeal,  and  even 
enthusiasm,  upon  the  responsible  duties  of  his  new 
situation ;  discharged  them  with  the  most  scrupulous 
and  laborious  fidelity,  the  most  evident  acceptance, 
the  most  unmistakable  success ;  enj  oyed  not  only  the 
confidence,  hut  the  warm  filial  respect  and  affection 
of  the  people  he  was  toiling  to  benefit;  continued 
twenty-six  years  at  his  post  as  pastor  and  school¬ 
master  without  any  ordaining  hands  of  presbytery  or 
prelate  having  been  laid  upon  him  ;  then  proceeded  to 
London  for  the  purpose  of  being  ordained,  that  the 
duties  he  had  hitherto  discharged  successfully,  though 
not  quite  regularly,  might  thenceforth  not  lack  the 
unction  or  grace  proceeding  from  the  true  apostolical 
authority  ;  was  ordained  by  the  Bishop  of  London  ; 
returned  to  the  beloved  little  flock,  from  whom  he 
had  parted  with  pangs,  to  rejoin  whom  he  had 
sighed  every  hour  since  his  absence  began,  and  who 
received  their  now  veritable  pastor,  hoped  for  and 
longed  for  in  the  Lord,  with  tears  and  shouts  of  wel¬ 
come  on  his  return. 

There  he  lives,  labors,  hopes,  rejoices,  sorrows 


384: 


THE  PITCAIRN  ISLANDERS. 


now,  the  venerated  and  loved  pastor  of  a  flock  num¬ 
bering  in  all  one  hundred  and  seventy  persons — a 
“  little  flock”  indeed,  yet  how  tenderly  endeared  to 
the  under  shepherd’s  heart,  and  how  vigilantly 
watched  over,  lest  any  should  go  astray !  And  not 
less  tenderly  endeared  to  the  heart  of  the  Good 
Shepherd  who  knows  and  guards  his  sheep,  and  is 
known  of  his,  and  ever  gladly  followed,  wherever  he 
leads,  by  the  humblest  whose  names  he  calls.  And 
there,  in  that  quiet,  interesting  spot,  the  Sabbath 
day  witnesses  the  gathering  of  the  flock,  no  straggler 
absent,  into  the  sanctuary  inclosure — no  unfit  emblem 
of  the  u  green  pastures”  and  the  murmuring  “  still 
waters,”  in  and  beside  which  they  are  refreshed  and 
regaled  who  are  the  favored  of  the  Lord.  There  one 
who  formerly  sat  under  the  ministry  of  the  writer  of 
this  article,  and  who,  with  the  enterprise  of  youth, 
found  his  home  on  the  Pacific  for  four  years,  during 
a  perilous  but  exciting  voyage,  entered  with  some  of 
his  ship’s  company  one  still  Sabbath  morning,  and 
sat  down  wondering,  deeply  interested,  awe-struck, 
amid  this  devout  assembly  of  Christian  Islanders. 
The  Pastor  Hobbs  conducted  the  services  with  sim¬ 
ple  and  affecting  fervor.  Ho  liturgy  hampered  the 
expression  of  thoughts  that  struggled  for  utterance, 
but  freely,  spontaneously  flowed  upward  to  the 


THE  PITCAIRN  ISLANDERS. 


385 


Throne  of  Grace,  the  stream  of  penitent  confession, 
devout  desire,  earnest  supplication  for  mercy  and 
favor. 

“  At  church  with  meek  and  unaffected  grace, 

His  looks  adorned  the  venerable  place.” 

And  if  humility,  truth,  earnestness,  “  godly  sincerity” 
are  capable  of  expression  from  the  looks  and  the  air 
of  the  preacher,  those  of  Mr.  Nobbs  fully  expressed 
them.  The  solemn  countenances  of  his  auditors 
showed  how  awful  the  jilace  and  the  service  were 
felt  to  be,  while  the  rapt  attention  with  which  his 
words  were  listened  to  proclaimed  how  greatly  they 
valued  the  privilege  of  hearing  Christ  and  the  cross 
preached,  and  how  intense  an  interest  they  felt  in  the 
message  brought.  And  when  they  rose  to  sing,  our 
informant  sailor-boy — whose  choicest  music  having 
been  the  roaring  of  winds,  the  dashing  of  waves,  or 
the  hoarse  bellowing  which  the  struck  whale  makes 
in  his  agony,  could  hardly  be  very  critical — felt  him¬ 
self,  as  it  seemed,  borne  upward  and  away  from 
earth  on  the  tide  of  song.  So  full  and  rich  were  the 
voices  of  the  singers,  so  earnest,  hearty,  and  buoyant 
were  the  notes  which  they  warbled,  so  familiar  were 
the  sentiments,  and  even  the  words,  while  the  faces 
and  the  scene  were  strange  to  him,  that  the  effect 

17 


386 


THE  PITCAIRN  ISLANDERS. 


upon  one  from  wliom  the  sights  and  sounds  of  the 
Christian  sanctuary  had  been  for  years  shut  out,  was 
instant  and  overpowering.  Association  bore  him 
irresistibly  to  his  own  loved  home,  a  participant  in 
kindred  solemnities  there,  and  gave  additional  inte¬ 
rest  and  intensity  to  his  emotions ;  and  it  had  been 
vain  indeed  to  struggle  against  the  gushing  tears. 
His  statements  confirmed  in  every  particular  what  is 
quoted  above,  respecting  the  appearance,  manners, 
and  character  of  this  interesting  people. 

Thus  it  would  seem  that  a  church  may,  after  all, 
exist  without  a  bishop,  or  regularly  ordained  preacher. 
A  Bible,  with  a  layman’s  homely  exposition  of  its 
mysteries,  and  a  Spirit-guided  faith  in  the  doctrines 
preached,  may  open  the  blind  eyes,  arrest  the  stray¬ 
ing  feet,  and  make  the  besotted  rebel  a  child  and 
heir  of  God.  Old  Adams,  and  Hobbs  before  his 
ordination,  saw  the  fruits  of  their  toils  and  prayers  in 
the  principles,  life,  works  of  a  people  gospel-won  and 
transformed ;  nor  did  the  subsequent  imposition  of 
episcopal  hands  in  the  case  of  the  latter  render  the 
faith  already  professed  by  the  island  neophytes  more 
efficacious  or  their  works  more  genuinely  Christian. 
The  gospel  thus  becomes  its  own  witness;  and 
though  the  Ethiopian’s  question,  “  How  can  I  under¬ 
stand  except  some  man  should  guide  me?”  might 


THE  PITCAIRN  ISLANDERS. 


387 


seem  to  declare  the  insufficiency  of  the  written 
Word  to  conduct  to  the  cross  without  the  living 
teacher’s  guidance,  yet  the  voice  of  pious  laymen 
may,  through  the  all-controlling  Spirit,  he  made  as 
safe  and  certain  a  guide  as  that  of  white-robed  priest, 
descended  in  the  straiglitest  line  from  the  apostles. 
And  if  narrow-souled  bigotry  disdainfully  ask,  “IIow 
can  these  things  be  ?”  we  would  point  to  the  simple 
faith  of  these  lowly  Islanders,  and  to  the  history  of 
that  faith,  leaving  the  words  of  Jesus  to  vivify  the 
illustration :  “  The  wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth, 
and  thou  hearest  the  sound  thereof,  but  canst  not  tell 
whence  it  cometh  nor  whither  it  goeth ;  so  is  every 
one  that  is  born  of  the  Spirit.” 

There  is  ground  of  hope  and  belief  that  what  the 
gospel  has  done  for  these  natives  it  may  and  will  do 
for  those  of  all  the  isles  of  the  same  broad  sea,  for 
those  of  pagandom  everywhere.  The  many  great 
and  precious  promises  are  yet  unfulfilled  which 
declare  the  mighty  and  swift  gathering  of  the  Christ- 
less  peoples  into  one  fold,  having  one  Shepherd. 
Missionaries  may  go  forth  from  this  little  spot  to  con¬ 
quer  and  make  Christian  every  dark  and  desolate 
tract  that  has  lain  for  ages  unnoticed  amid  this  wil¬ 
derness  of  waters,  and  from  shore  to  shore  spread 
inwardly  the  truth  that  reclaims,  and  makes  the 


388 


THE  PITCAIRN  ISLANDERS. 


desert  blossom  as  the  rose.  The  glad  shout  is  yet 
to  be  heard,  a  The  kingdoms  of  this  world  are  be¬ 
come  the  kingdoms  of  our  Lord  and  of  his  Christ.” 
He  who  “  turneth  the  wilderness  into  a  standing 
water,”  and  kings’  and  peoples’  hearts  whithersoever 
he  will,  can  produce,  by  agencies  the  most  unpromis¬ 
ing  and  unexpected,  gospel  results  the  most  momen¬ 
tous  and  astounding.  The  “  little  one”  in  the  midst 
of  the  sea  may  become  a  “  strong  nation,”  sooner 
than  a  dull  faith  looks  at,  and  the  love  divine  that 
has  made  Pitcairn’s  Christ’s,  diffuse  its  radiance  over 
a  renovated  world. 


DR.  CANNON’S  PASTORAL  THEOLOGY. 


The  office  of  professor  in  theology  has  about  it  lit¬ 
tle  of  that  glare  which  attracts  the  notice  or  excites 
the  wonder  of  the  multitude.  Compared  with  the 
popular  preacher,  who  appears  week  after  week  be¬ 
fore  a  crowd,  hushed  and  subdued  by  the  tones  of  a 
stirring  oratory,  it  might  seem,  at  the  first  view,  that 
the  office  of  the  former  was  insignificant  and  his  work 
barren  of  results.  Judged  by  superficial  tests — and 
these  sometimes  have  a  surprisingly  wide  and  potent 
sway — the  superior  importance  and  utility  of  the 
preacher’s  labors  would  seem  hardly  to  admit  of  a 
question.  According  to  such  tests,  if  truth  is  to  be 
preserved,  or  its  influence  widened,  or  infidelity  to 
be  rebuked,  or  rationalism  undermined,  or  “spiritual 
wickedness  in  high  places”  discomfited,  and  Gospel 
light  conveyed  to  benighted  minds  most  irresis- 

*  Lectures  on  Pastoral  Theology,  by  the  Rev.  James  S.  Cannon, 
D.D.,  late  Professor  of  Pastoral  Theology  and  Ecclesiastical  Histo¬ 
ry  and  Government,  in  the  Theological  Seminary  of  the  Reformed 
Dutch  Church,  New  Brunswick,  N.  J.  New  York:  Charles  Scrib¬ 
ner,  145  Nassau  Street.  1853. 


390  de.  cannon’s  pastokal  theology. 

tibly,  he  is  the  likeliest  to  effect  such  results,  whose 
power  to  move  and  melt  is  confessed  by  captivated 
crowds,  loving  to  be  charmed  by  accents  which  are 
to  them  “  as  a  very  lovely  song  of  one  that  hath  a 
pleasant  voice,  and  can  play  well  upon  an  instru¬ 
ment.” 

What  equal  claims  to  honor  can  the  professor 
advance  ?  He  is  a  quiet,  unobserved  man.  He  has 

his  home  and  the  arena  of  his  labors  usually  “  remote 

/ 

from  cities,”  or,  if  in  them,  he  can  hardly  be  said  to 
be  of  them.  Though  having  exercised  the  functions 
of  the  preacher  in  years  gone  by,  and  wielded  the 
influence  of  the  honored  pastor,  he  no  more  addresses, 
except  occasionally  and  by  way  of  digression  from 
the  treadmill  routine  of  every-day  duty,  the  “  great 
congregation,”  or  visits  from  house  to  house,  the 
many-hued  minds  which  an  adapted  Gospel  is  given 
to  guide,  comfort,  or  impress.  The  lecture-room, 
rather  than  the  church,  is  the  theatre  whereon  his 
skill  and  prowess  are  to  be  displayed.  A  few  disciples, 
rather  than  a  promiscuous  gathering,  constitute  his 
stated  auditory,  and  the  subjects  for  the  reception 
of  lessons,  whose  design  is  to  qualify  fit  and  faithful 
workmen  for  the  service  of  the  sanctuary.  Hay  after 
day,  and  month  after  month,  he  passes  backward  and 
forward  from  the  house  to  the  lecture-room  with  the 


391 


DK.  CANNON’S  PASTORAL  THEOLOGY. 

regularity  of  a  machine.  He  gathers  noiselessly  his 
little  class  around  him.  He  opens  to  inquisitive  and 
earnest  minds  treasures  of  sacred  lore,  which  long 
and  laborious  diligence  has  accumulated,  more  pre¬ 
cious,  in  their  effects  at  least,  than  those  brought  by 
devout  Magi  to  the  cradle  of  the  infant  Christ.  He 
is  not  covetous  of  the  applauses  of  the  bustling  crowd 
without,  who  hold  on  their  accustomed  way,  heeding 
neither  him  nor  his  teachings.  Their  indifference 
gives  him  no  concern.  It  is  enough  for  him,  to  be 
invested  with  the  honor,  and  with  the  responsibility 
not  less,  of  guiding  and  instructing  those,  who  are 
soon  to  become  the  guides  and  instructors  of  the  peo¬ 
ple.  And  it  matters  very  little  to  him,  whether  the 
world  knows  his  name  familiarly  or  not,  if  he  can 
but  succeed  in  furnishing  for  the  great  battle  with 
the  enemies  of  Zion,  those  who  shall  valiantly  and 
devotedly  uphold  the  sacred  cause  of  truth. 

And  thus  it  comes  to  pass  not  unfrequently,  that  a 
person  who  has  long  occupied  such  a  position  as  this, 
and  occupied  it  too  most  creditably  and  usefully,  dies 
without  having  acquired  any  wide-spread  distinction, 
and  at  his  departure  is  followed  with  no  general  deep- 
drawn  sigh,  “  how  is  the  mighty  fallen.”  His  name, 
even  as  it  appears  on  the  list  of  the  dead,  may  be 
coldly  glanced  at  by  the  world  as  being  almost  that 


392  DU.  cannon’s  P ASTON AL  THEOLOGY. 

of  a  stranger.  But  fame  is  not  tlie  measure  of  utility. 
The  obscure  life  is  not  the  insignificant  life.  What 
has  been  wrought  for  the  good  of  humanity,  is  not  to 
be  estimated  by  any  degree  of  worldly  distinction,  or 
any  amount  of  worldly  adulation  or  applause.  The 
truth  lies  deeper.  The  true  teacher  of  theology  is 
-  one  of  the  great  powers  of  this  earth.  He  moves — • 
what  the  lever  of  Archimedes,  however  favorably 
adjusted,  never  could  move — human  minds,  disposi¬ 
tions,  volitions,  affections.  The  knowledge  which  he 
imparts  has  not  been  easily  obtained,  but  is  the  fruit 
of  weary  and  toilful  years,  brought  from  far  and  near, 
and  amassed  as  a  common  hoard,  for  the  benefit  of 
those  who  stretch  forth  their  hands  at  his  bidding 
and  gather  what  they  may.  His  knowledge  is  not 
all  theory  ;  has  not  all  been  gleaned  from  books.  His 
own  experience  of  the  pastor’s  wants  and  trials  ,  of 
his  discouragements  and  supports  ;  of  what  he  should 
be,  and  what  he  should  do,  and  what  he  must  or 
may  suffer,  imparts  to  his  teaching  a  practical  cha¬ 
racter,  which  enhances  its  value  ;  for  the  professor 
has,  in  most  instances,  been  himself  an  overseer  of 
the  flock  of  Christ.  The  lessons  thus  given  to  those 
who  are  to  be  pastors,  embody  theoretical  with  ex¬ 
perimental  knowlege.  The  choicest  fruits  of  an  active 
and  inquiring  intellect,  of  the  diligent  study  of  the 


DR.  CANNON’S  PASTORAL  THEOLOGY. 


393 


“  lively  oracles,”  of  fatiguing  but  successful  excur¬ 
sions  into  all  fields  where  valuable  sheaves  were 
awaiting  the  gatherer’s  hand,  of  counsels  made 
sagacious  by  intercourse  with  men,  and  life  made 
blameless  by  stern  discipline  and  trial,  are  brought 
forth,  and  freely  offered  to  those  who  can  hardly 
partake  for  months  and  years  of  such  a  repast,  with¬ 
out  finding  health  increase,  and  the  heart  grow  strong 
for  grappling  with  the  great  work  which  the  pastor 
has  to  do. 

Accordingly,  if  we  would  estimate  the  professor’s 
work  aright,  we  must  cast  our  glance  abroad  over 
the  church  and  over  the  world,  and  let  it  “  enter 
within  the  vail  ”  that  hides  the  coming  years.  The 
young  man,  well  instructed  in  the  theory  and  practice 
of  winning  souls,  goes  forth  to  become  himself  the 
teacher  and  guide  of  men.  He  goes  forth  like  trust¬ 
ing  Abraham,  not  knowing  whither  the  Divine  will 
shall  lead  him.  The  field  is  the  world.  The  harvests 
are  whitening  around  him.  The  laborers  are  few. 
The  heavenly  voice  bidding  him  enter  and  reap,  is 
decisive  and  urgent.  He  goes  whither  he  is  guided, 
and  enters  on  his  toils  with  the  ardor  of  a  volunteer, 
rather  than  the  slow  and  lingering  pace  of  one  who 
undertakes  reluctantly  a  task  for  which  he  has  no 
relish.  The  effects  of  his  conscientious  training  soon 

17* 


394  dr.  cannon’s  pastoral  theology. 

appear.  As  a  “  man  of  God  thoroughly  furnished 
unto  all  good  works,”  he  makes  his  mark  upon  the 
district  where  he  is  called  to  labor.  He  wields,  in 
spite  of  every  hostile  array,  the  influence  which  is 
well-nigh  inseparable  from  educated,  well-directed, 
and  devoted  piety  everywhere.  The  church  is  edified, 
strengthened,  expanded ;  vice  and  irreligion,  though 
entrenched  behind  power,  are  made  to  tremble,  as 
Felix  did,  at  the  winged  “  words  of  truth  and  sober¬ 
ness  ;  ”  error  and  delusion  vanish  before  the  sword  of 
the  Lord  as  brandished  by  Ilis  accredited  and  loyal 
ambassador ;  and  from  the  little  circle  within  which 
a  single  standard-bearer  has  planted  his  foot  and  dis¬ 
played  his  banner,  inscribed  with  “  Christ  and  him 
crucified,”  an  influence,  as  benign  and  purifying  as 
it  is  gentle,  is  conveyed  to  surrounding  minds  and 
habitations,  and  through  these  still  more  remotely 
abroad,  so  that  the  entire  measure  of  the  good 
achieved  baffles  the  power  of  present  calculation. 
Or,  if  the  Macedonian  cry,  “  come  over  and  help  us,” 
has  given  the  energies  of  the  devoted  soldier  another 
direction,  and  he  goes  forth  to  win  trophies  for  his 
Lord  on  the  foreign  field,  there,  too,  his  works  attest 
his  zeal  and  heroism.  The  wilderness  and  solitary 
place  are  made  glad  by  his  presence ;  the  desert 
rejoices  and  blossoms  as  the  rose.  The  heart  of  the 


DR.  CANNON'S  PASTORAL  THEOLOGY.  395 

church  is  cheered,  perchance,  by  tidings  wafted  from 
beyond  the  sun,  of  temples,  whose  altars  smoked  with 
the  blood  of  human  victims,  supplanted  by  those 
which  Jehovah’s  praises  and  presence  fill,  and  from 
the  myriads  of  a  pagan  world  many  devout  worship¬ 
pers  “  turned  to  God  from  idols,  to  serve  henceforth 
the  living  and  true  God.” 

Such  results  may  be  wrought  through  God’s  guid¬ 
ing  and  aiding  Spirit,  by  a  single  well-disciplined 
mind,  whose  powers  have  been  trained  and  conse¬ 
crated  in  some  school  of  the  prophets.  These  are 
among  the  fruits  of  those  lessons  given  in  the  lecture- 
room  ;  lessons,  unregarded  by  the  throng  of  bustling 
men,  daily  repeated  without  noise  or  display  ;  weari¬ 
some  at  times  to  the  teacher,  from  their  monotony ; 
to  the  careless  observer,  utterly  unpromising.  But  in 
God’s  time  the  harvest  has  succeeded  the  seed  season, 
and  the  multitude  of  garnered  sheaves  will  never  be 
fully  known  to  us,  till  the  great  day  come  whereon 
“  the  Lord  shall  count  when  He  writeth  up  the  people 
that  this  and  that  man  was  born  there.”  What  sur¬ 
prising  revelations  await  “  the  pure  in  heart  who 
shall  see  God,”  and  rejoice  that  they  no  longer  u  see 
through  a  glass  darkly.” 

The  author  of  the  book  before  us,  illustrates  to  some 
extent  the  idea  designed  to  be  conveyed  by  the  fore- 


396 


DR.  CANNON’S  PASTORAL  THEOLOGY. 


going  paragraphs.  He  became  a  teacher  of  theology 
in  the  full  maturity  of  his  powers,  having  served  for 
thirty  years  previously,  in  the  work  of  the  ministry. 
During  all  this  period,  he  continued  the  pastor  of  the 
same  congregation,  thus  furnishing  an  example  of  the 
u  steadfast  and  immovable/’  which  in  this  day  of 
comparative  instability,  it  is  quite  refreshing  to  see. 
He  discharged  the  duties  of  his  pastorate,  laboriously, 
faithfully,  unblamably  and  usefully,  and,  with  the 
ripe  experience  of  so  many  years,  passed  into  the 
professor’s  chair,  to  which  the  confidence  of  the  church 
he  belonged  to,  had  elected  him.  The  change  oc¬ 
curred  in  1826,  from  which  period  till  his  death  in 
1852,  he  performed,  in  a  faithful  and  exemplary 
manner,  the  duties  which  his  office  demanded,  giving 
instruction  not  only  to  the  classes  in  the  Theological 
School,  but  also  to  those  in  the  Literary  Institution, 
connected  with  it.  The  Seminary  with  which  his 
name  is  honorably  and  now  indissolubly  connected, 
belongs  to  a  church,  which,  though  among  the  small¬ 
est  of  the  denominational  families  that  compose  our 
American  Israel,  is  yet  venerable  for  its  age  and 
associations,  estimable  for  the  unbending  firmness 
with  which  it  has  held  fast  to  the  great  doctrines  of 
the  Reformation,  and  exemplary  for  its  exemption 
from  those  internal  feuds  and  collisions,  by  which 


DR.  CANNON^  PASTORAL  THEOLOGY. 


397 


other  sections  of  the  Christian  church  have  been  dis¬ 
tracted  and  torn.  And,  if  somewhat  deficient  hitherto, 
in  that  aggressive  and  enterprising  spirit,  which  has 
served  to  extend  other  denominations  more  widely 
and  rapidly,  yet  evincing  ever  a  liberal,  earnest  and 
catholic  disposition,  to  co-operate  with  all  true  Chris¬ 
tian  hearts,  in  sustaining  and  carrying  forward  those 
good  and  great  enterprises,  which  owe  their  birth 
and  vigor  equally  to  the  gift  and  genius  of  our  com¬ 
mon  Christianity. 

Dr.  Cannon  was  connected  with  this  Seminary  more 
than  a  quarter  of  a  century.  During  this  period,  a 
succession  of  thoroughly  educated  young  preachers 
have  gone  forth  into  the  world  ;  some  to  exercise  their 
gifts  within  the  bounds  of  their  own  church,  at  home  ; 
some  to  prove  the  skill  and  excellence  of  their  pre¬ 
paratory  training,  within  the  pale  of  sister  denomina¬ 
tions  ;  others  to  break  ground  for  themselves  and 
build,  with  Christ  to  help  them,  on  no  other  man’s 
foundation,  amid  the  prairies  and  wildernesses  of  the 
far  western  country,  and  a  few,  of  whom  the  lamented 
Abeel  was  the  pioneer,  to  sow  the  seed  of  the  Word 
on  soil  moistened  and  fattened  by  the  blood  of  human 
sacrifices.  What  good  has  been  achieved  by  the 
consecrated  energies  of  all  these  educated  minds, 
brought  thus  in  contact  with  a  “  world  which  by 


398  de.  cannon’s  pastoeal  theology. 

wisdom  knows  not  God,”  and  how  far  the  influence  of 
one  faithful  and  pains-taking  professor,  not  widely 
known  to  fame,  has  contributed  to  produce  the  united 
result,  whatever  that  result  may  he,  it  is  of  course 
impossible  to  say.  The  aggregate  of  fruits,  shall  only 
be  seen  when,  “  in  the  presence  of  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ  at  his  coming,”  the  “crowns  of  rejoicing” 
shall  appear,  and  the  world  witness  the  spectacle. 

The  lectures  which  form  this  volume  are  thirtv-six 

t / 

in  number,  the  result  of  the  diligent  years  during 
which  the  author  held  the  responsible  position  of  pro¬ 
fessor,  the  matters  treated  in  them  having  been  all 
along  subject  to  such  improvements  as  his  taste  and 
judgment  might  suggest.  A  glance  through  the 
pages  of  the  book  will  show  how  wide  and  compre¬ 
hensive  is  the  range  of  topics  discussed,  and  that  they 
who  undervalue  the  importance  of  this  branch  of 
theology  as  compared  with  other  branches,  might 
find  it  hard  to  rest  their  preference  on  good  and  sub¬ 
stantial  grounds.  In  fact,  among  the  subj  ects  treated 
are  some  of  the  gravest  and  most  important  character, 
which  no  workman  who  would  not  be  ashamed,  can 
venture  to  slight  or  disparage.  The  portion  of  the 
volume  which  exhibits  the  graces  of  the  Divine  life, 
the  fruits  of  piety,  whose  earnest  cultivation  is  essen¬ 
tial,  not  only  to  the  pastor’s  growing  usefulness,  but 


DB.  CANKON’s  PASTOBAL  THEOLOGY.  399 

to  liis  personal  comfort  in  the  trying  work  which  has 
received  his  consecration,  is  one  of  high  interest  and 
value.  There  is  the  subject  of  prayer — public, 
private,  social— treated  with  great  fulness  and  force  ; 
its  importance  and  its  qualifications  shown ;  the 
argument  in  behalf  of  extemporary  prayer  clearly 
stated;  the  argument  against  the  exclusive  use  of 
liturgical  forms  pungently  put;  how  the  grace  and 
gift  of  prayer  may  be  improved ;  how  they  may  be 
made  to  dwindle,  and  in  what  should  consist  the 
matter,  order  and  manner  of  those  prayers  in  the 
sanctuary,  by  means  of  which  the  pastor  conducts 
the  devotions  of  his  flock.  There  are  also  discussed 
the  Christian  sacraments,  as  compared  with  those  of 
the  past  dispensation  ;  their  nature,  design,  extent 
and  efficacy  explained  ;  who  are  the  proper  subjects 
to  receive  the  benefits  of  these  significant  rites ;  the 
difference  between  John’s  baptism  and  that  of  Christ ; 
the  corruptions  engrafted  on  these  simple  ordinances 
by  the  Komish  church,  and  other  hardly  less  scrupu¬ 
lous  sects.  These  topics,  together  with  those  which 
refer  directly  to  what  is  requisite  to  prepare  the 
pastor  to  preach  the  Gospel  most  effectively,  are  all 
treated  in  a  style  of  argument  both  clear  and  cogent, 
and  with  a  copiousness  which  leaves  little  ground  for 
the  charge  that  they  have  received  at  the  lec- 


400  de.  cannon’s  pastoeal  theology. 

turer’s  hands  no  more  than  a  hasty  and  superficial 
survey. 

The  lectures  are  marked  by  clearness  and  discri¬ 
mination.  The  “  large  sound  roundabout  sense,”  as 
Mr.  Locke  calls  it,  which  every  page  discloses,  forms 
a  very  observable  feature.  The  lecturer’s  well 
poised  judgment  never  betrays  him  into  sentimental 
improprieties,  and  rarely  suffers  his  expression  to 
relax  into  a  tone  unbecoming  the  gravity  of  the  sub¬ 
jects  discussed.  He  appears  throughout  to  estimate 
profoundly  the  worth  and  dignity  of  the  ministeria. 
office,  and  to  desire  heartily  that  his  own  convictions 
should  fix  themselves  in  the  minds  of  his  pupils.  So 
great  is  his  earnestness  in  this  respect,  that  the 
didactic  style  is  occasionally  merged  and  lost  in  the 
hortatory,  and  the  transition,  instead  of  offending, 
rather  gives  us  pleasure,  as  revealing  the  ^workings 
of  a  warm  heart  intent  on  reaching  the  heart  as  well 
as  the  understanding  of  the  neophyte.  A  tone  of 
deeply  pious  feeling  pervades  the  lectures,  rising  at 
times,  in  the  closing  parts,  which  are  occupied  with 
practical  reflections,  into  a  style  of  remark  impres¬ 
sively  devout.  The  high  place  which  “  the  law  and 
testimony”  held  in  the  lecturer’s  mind,  and  the 
degree  to  which  his  mind  was  imbued  both  with  its 
sentiments  and  language,  everywhere  appear.  Ex- 


DB.  CANNON’S  PASTOEAL  THEOLOGY. 


401 


pressions  occur  not  unfrequently,  distinctly  pointing 
to  tlie  copious  well-spring  whence  the  thought  was 
drawn,  almost  insensibly  to  the  writer  perchance, 
while  literal  Scriptural  passages  illustrating  his  idea, 
are  interwoven  through  his  pages,  selected  with  his 
usual  judgment,  and  often  very  happily  introduced. 
To  illustrate  these  views  by  apposite  quotations,  will 
he  to  transcribe  very  largely  from  tlie  volume. 

The  author  has  little  fondness  for  abstract  specu¬ 
lation.  He  nowhere  launches  forth  upon  a  sea  of 
conceits  where  “  fathom-line  can  never  reach  the 
ground.”  He  conducts  his  pupils,  or  his  readers,  to 
no  position  where  the  ground  beneath  them  is  tremu¬ 
lous  and  liable  to  slide.  He  has  not  learned  to 
admire  the  German  mysticism  of  thought,  nor  to 
affect  the  outlandish  jargon  which  Carlyle  has  helped 
to  make  popular,  by  which  true  thought  is  so  greatly 
impaired,  and  the  poverty  of  thought  sought  to  be 
concealed.  He  cannot  trifle  with  his  trust,  nor  with 
the  interests  of  those  who  are  looking  to  him  for 
guidance,  by  pausing  to  plume  his  wings  for  a  flight 
whither  others  cannot  follow  him,  or  by  stepping 
aside  to  cull  strange  flowers  of  speech,  which  may 
regale  the  sense,  but  not  strengthen  the  heart.  He 
treats  his  subject  with  manly  dignity  and  directness, 
and  himself  illustrates  the  following  remarks  upon 


402 


DR.  CANNON’S  PASTORAL  THEOLOGY. 


the  dignity  of  the  pulpit,  which,  with  a  certain  class 
of  preachers  of  the  present  day,  seems  to  have  be¬ 
come,  if  not  quite  an  “  obsolete  idea,”  yet  a  rule 
regarded  as  more  honored  in  the  breach  than  in  the 
observance : 

u  Especially  is  dignity  in  the  pulpit  opposed  to  all  pert,  quaint 
and  witty  expressions.  Displays  of  wit  are  out  of  place  in  the 
sacred  desk ;  for,  in  proportion  as  wit  excites  onr  admiration  of 
certain  associations  of  ideas  in  men  of  wit,  it  stirs  up  those 
emotions  which  are  more  allied  to  merriment  than  devotion, 
and  which  divert  our  attention  from  the  sublime  realities  of  re¬ 
ligion.  Hardly  should  a  good  religious  anecdote  be  introduced 
into  a  sermon,  if  with  all  the  instruction  it  may  afford  it  contain 
much  wit,  and  is  calculated  to  make  some  hearers  smile  and 
others  laugh.  To  use  the  language  of  Seneca :  ‘  Quid  mihi 
lusoria  ista  proponis  ?  Non  est  jocundi  locus.’  .  .  .  ‘  Religion 
abhors  the  ridiculous  and  the  witty  in  the  pulpit,  as  bordering 
too  much  on  levity.  The  thoughtless  in  public  worship  may  be 
amused  by  remarks  which  inflict  pain  on  the  hearts  of  the 
pious.”* — Pp.  160,  161. 

*  In  Rev.  Dr.  Bethune’s  Oration  before  the  Theological  classes  at 
Andover,  in  1842,  one  of  the  most  instructive  and  admirable  that 
any  similar  occasion  has  called  forth,  the  following  remarks  in  the 
same  line  with  the  above  occur,  and  may  be  fittingly  introduced  in 
this  connexion :  “  There  is  no  force  nor  wit  in  slang  or  cant  expres¬ 
sions  ;  or,  if  they  excite  attention  for  the  moment,  it  is  at  the  ex¬ 
pense  of  the  house  of  God,  the  ministry,  and  the  Gospel  itself,  by 
pandering  to  a  low  taste,  and  investing  sacred  things  with  ludicrous 


DR.  CANNON’S  PASTORAL  THEOLOGY. 


403 


Throughout  these  lectures  the  reader  is  never  suf¬ 
fered  to  lose  sight  of  the  lofty  aim,  the  thoroughly 
earnest  purpose  controlling  the  mind  and  heart,  that 
gave  them  being  and  maturity ;  and  it  is  rare  that 
there  is  any  seeming  departure  in  the  language  from 
that  dignified  seriousness  which  is  the  most  fitting 
expression  of  such  an  aim  and  purpose.  Yet  occa¬ 
sionally  we  come  upon  a  sly  satirical  hit,  a  touch  of 
quiet  and  quaint  humor,  reminding  us  of  the  droll 
strokes  of  artless  old  Izaak  W alton,  or  the  more  attic 
sallies  of  honest  Thomas  Fuller  in  his  Church  His¬ 
tory  of  Britain.  A  passage  or  two  may  be  cited  as 
a  sample  : 

“  Perhaps  the  greatest  pulpit  orators  are  not  so  useful  in  com- 

and  grovelling  associations.  The  man  who  plays  the  buffoon  or  the 
clown  in  the  pulpit,  leaves  not  that  sacred  place  what  he  found  it. 
However  dignified  the  preacher  may  be  that  follows  him,  the  peo¬ 
ple  cannot  look  up  to  listen  and  forget  the  tricks  that  were  played 
where  he  stands ;  vulgar  pruriency  will  long  for  the  gross  excite¬ 
ment,  and  the  refined  cannot  wholly  discharge  the  sickening  images 
from  their  thoughts.  Let  once  the  boisterous  laugh  ring  round  a 
place  of  worship,  and  its  echoes  will  disturb  the  meditations  of  the 
pious  for  many  a  long  day.”  This  is  well  and  truly  said,  and  we 
will  add,  by  way  of  commentary,  that  the  effect  of  the  “  boisterous 
laugh”  in  God’s  house  is  much  the  same,  whether  “  the  clown  in  the 
pulpit”  or  the  refined  man  of  wit  occasion  it.  The  merriment  is 
equally  unseasonable  and  indecorous,  and  the  difference,  if  there  be 
any,  is  one  of  degree  and  association  alone. 


404  dr.  cannon’s  pastoral  theology. 

municating  solid  instruction  as  those  who,  without  oratorical 
powers,  enrich  their  sermons  with  deep  thought,  with  heart¬ 
searching  and  practical  divinity ;  nor  are  those  persons  who,  on 
the  Sabbath,  are  seen  to  be  in  chase  of  popular  preachers,  found 
to  have  furnished  their  minds  with  a  large  measure  of  Scrip¬ 
tural  knowledge.  Great  will  be  the  mistake  of  such  persons  if 
they  suppose  that  they  are  to  be  lifted  up  to  heaven  by  their 
ears” — P.  145. 

Indiscriminate  reading  of  books  without  due  re¬ 
flection  is  characterized  thus : 

u  Father  Augustine  long  since  said :  ‘  lectio  inquirit,  oratio 
postulat,  meditatio  invenit,  contemplatio  degustat.”  Some 
young  men  in  the  ministry  exhibit  a  voracious  appetite  in  read¬ 
ing  books,  hut  there  is  no  digestion  by  them  of  what  they  read. 
When  they  take  up  their  pens  to  compose  sermons,  they  are 
obliged  to  borrow  without  ceremony,  from  the  writers  before 
them,  too  lavishly.  It  is  an  unhappy  condition  in  natural  life 
to  live  by  borrowing — P.  150. 

Again  : 

“  A  preacher  pays  hut  a  poor  compliment  to  the  understand¬ 
ing  of  his  hearers,  and  to  the  Bible  itself,  when  he  draws  out  of 
it  (and  he  might  just  as  well  have  taken  it  out  of  an  almanac) 
the  single  word  ‘  remember,’  in  order  to  publish  his  philosophi¬ 
cal  theories  respecting  the  powers  of  memory  and  its  indestruc¬ 
tible  tenacity.” — P.  175. 

“  It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  so  many  of  our  youth,  after 
passing  through  the  forms  of  an  academical  education,  think 


405 


DR.  CANNON’S  PASTORAL  THEOLOGY. 

that  they  are  elevated  above  the  study  of  English  grammar,  and 
need  no  longer  consult  their  dictionaries.”  .  .  .  “  Some  enter 
the  ministry  too  wise  in  their  own  conceit  to  learn  the  art  of 
speaking  and  writing  with  propriety,  the  language  in  which 
they  are  to  preach  the  Gospel.” — P.  155. 

Such  quiet  strokes  as  these  occur  where  and  when 
the  reader  least  looks  for  them,  and  have  upon  him 
the  effect  of  provoking  a  pleasant  surprise,  without, 
however,  suggesting  the  idea  of  unseemly  incongru¬ 
ity,  or  forcing  him  to  feel  that  they  detract  seriously 
from  the  dignified  tone  which  is  for  the  most  part 
well  preserved.  They  seem  to  have  come  spontane¬ 
ously,  without  being  sought  for,  and  are  uniformly 
used,  not  for  effect,  but  for  illustration. 

The  author  of  these  lectures  was  an  edifying  and 
effective  preacher,  to  the  close  of  his  long  life.  ITis 
habit  was  to  commit  his  written  preparations  to  a 

m  -* 

memory  of  great  tenacity,  and  strengthened  by  long 
practice,  so  that  in  delivery  his  words  seemed  to 
flow  as  naturally  and  with  as  little  labor  of  memory 
as  in  the  most  fluent  extemporary  discourse.  This, 
besides  investing  his  instructions  on  this  subject  with 
the  additional  value  derived  from  his  own  successful 
experience,  may  explain  th q  penchant  he  discovers  in 
his  lectures  for  memoriter  preaching,  or,  at  least, 
preaching  without  the  written  sermon  before  the 


406  de.  cannon’s  pastoeal  theology. 

preacher’s  eyes.  He  states,  not  so  fully  as  lie  might 
have  stated,  some  of  the  arguments  usually  assigned 
in  behalf  of  manuscript  preaching,  and  then  argues, 
at  considerable  length,  his  own  side  of  the  question, 
as  we  may  term  it,  that  is,  adversely  to  the  use  of  the 
written  sermon  in  the  pulpit.  Want  of  room  forbids 
the  quotation  of  his  remarks  on  this  question,  judi¬ 
cious  as  many  of  them  are,  and  forbids,  also,  any 
extended  reflection  that  might  be  made  in  modifica¬ 
tion  of  one  or  two  of  the  lecturer’s  views  on  this 
mooted  subject.  We  will  merely  say,  that  a  dis¬ 
course  from  the  pulpit  is  a  very  different  affair  in  its 
character,  not  less  than  in  its  attendant  circum¬ 
stances,  from  the  plea  which  the  advocate  makes  at 
the  bar,  or  the  speech  which  the  political  haranguer 
utters  at  the  hustings.  The  advocate’s  staple  con¬ 
sists  largely  of  facts,  the  product  of  testimony ;  the 
stump-orator’s  appeals  are  based,  too,  upon  facts,  or 
what  he  may  consider  such,  growing  out  of  the  state 
of  parties  or  of  the  country  ;  facts,  not  only  perfectly 
familiar  to  his  hearers,  but  having  for  them  a  present, 
and,  perhaps,  a  pressing  interest.  The  successive 
pleas  or  speeches  made,  present  to  the  listener’s 
attention  classes  of  facts  differing  from  those  pre¬ 
viously  commented  on,  and  invest  the  subjects  or 
cases  treated  with  the  attractive  freshness  of  novelty. 


DR.  CANNON’S  PASTORAL  THEOLOGY. 


407 


Tlie  speeches,  besides,  are  neither  spoken  periodi¬ 
cally  nor  very  often,  hut  only  on  emergent  occasions, 
and  usually  to  different  audiences.  The  character 
of  the  audience  is,  moreover,  very  often  such,  that  a 
more  careless  style  of  expression,  a  more  uncon¬ 
strained  and  bolder  declamation,  with  a  more  homely 
and  even  coarser  imagery  than  would  be  tolerated  in 
the  pulpit,  instead  of  offending  the  taste,  really  prove 
quite  palatable,  and  show  themselves  highly  effective 
in  moving  minds  that  would  be  impatient  of  a  more 
staid,  precise,  and  elaborate  style  of  oratory. 

It  is  different  with  the  preacher.  He  addresses  a 
graver  assembly,  on  far  graver  subjects,  and  on  the 
most  solemn  of  days.  The  great  topics  that  he  dis¬ 
courses  upon  are  those  which  the  apostles  discoursed 
upon  from  the  beginning,  and  all  true  successors  of 
theirs  have  discoursed  upon  subsequently.  He  must 
substitute  in  his  discourses,  in  no  small  measure, 
faith  for  sight,  the  distant  for  the  present,  the  impal¬ 
pable  for  the  tangible,  the  eternal  for  the  temporal. 
The  didactic  method  which  many  of  his  weighty  sub- 
jects  demand,  has  small  affinity  to  that  rough,  racy, 
and  sometimes  impromptu  speech  that  best  suits  and 
moves  a  promiscuous  multitude.  He  has  to  observe 
the  decorums  of  time,  place,  and  circumstance.  He 
cannot  indulge  in  a  loose  style  of  declamation,  or 


408  dr.  cannon’s  pastoral  theology. 

clothe  his  thoughts  in  too  plain  a  garb,  or  draw  his 
illustrations  from  too  common  sources,  or  give  free 
rein  to  his  fancy,  without  sinking  the  dignity  of  the 
pulpit,  and  giving  a  shock  to  the  graver  part  of  his 
audience.  The  periodical  frequency,  too,  with  wdiich 
the  preacher  appears  before  the  same  audience,  who 
would  soon  weary  of  monotony,  were  not  his  dis¬ 
courses  made  freshly  various  and  interesting,  instead 
of  presenting,  from  week  to  week,  a  jejune  repeti¬ 
tion  of  common-place  topics,  varied  only  in  arrange¬ 
ment,  a  fault  which  extemporary  speakers  are  prone 
to  run  into,  demands  that  studied  and  careful  prepa¬ 
ration  which  can  rarely  be  made  so  well,  that  is,  so 
continuously  well,  if  the  preacher  fails  to  write  out 
what  he  designs  for  the  weekly  edification  of  his 
flock. 

These  points  of  difference  may  serve  to  show  why, 
in  the  preacher’s  case,  a  written  preparation  for  the 
pulpit,  as  a  general  rule,  cannot  be  safely  dispensed 
with.  In  fact,  the  duty  of  writing  carefully  is  no¬ 
where  enjoined  more  emphatically  than  in  the  lec¬ 
tures  before  us.  But,  granting  this,  it  may  still  be 
urged,  u  why  should  not  the  preacher  commit  to 
memory  what  he  has  written,  and  banish  the  manu¬ 
script  from  the  pulpit  altogether  ?”  Because,  it  may 
be  replied :  1.  Many  preachers  have  not  powers  of 


DR.  CANNON’S  PASTORAL  THEOLOGY. 


409 


memory  adequate  to  commit,  statedly  and  accurately, 
the  discourses  they  prepare.  2.  Discourses  imper¬ 
fectly  committed  are  apt  to  render  the  manner  timid 
and  embarrassed,  from  the  perpetual  effort  of  the 
mind  to  call  up  the  appropriate  words,  and  thus  sen¬ 
sibly  impair  the  power  of  the  spoken  sermon.  3. 
Many,  though  able  to  commit,  feel  an  unconquerable 
repugnance  to  an  habitual  exercise,  which,  while 
denying  its  necessity  or  superior  excellence,  they 
regard  as  belonging  more  properly  to  the  elementary 
schools.  4.  The  outlay  of  time  and  toil  in  writing 
sermons,  is  quite  as  great  as  can  be  spared  from 
other  pressing  duties  which  demand  the  pastor’s 
attention,  without  imposing  upon  him  the  additional 
and  often  more  exhausting  burden  of  committing 
them  to  memory.  5.  A  sermon  preached  from  notes 
may,  with  proper  care,  and  without  this  no  man 
should  undertake  to  preach  it,  be  delivered  quite  as 
effectively,  with  as  appropriate  emphasis  and  action, 
and  with  the  preacher’s  eye,  too,  as  well  able  to  scan 
and  control  his  audience,  as  though  it  were  uttered 
from  memory.  An  appeal  to  the  practice  of  many  of 
the  ablest  and  most  effective  preachers,  of  our  own 
and  of  other  times,  would  go  far  to  establish  this 
averment.  Of  course,  to  be  chained  down  to  a 
liieroglyphical  manuscript;,  which  requires  more  in- 

13 


410 


DE.  CANNON’S  PASTOEAL  THEOLOGY. 


genuity  to  decipher  than  to  have  composed,  is  not 
the  most  favorable  condition  for  producing  oratorical 
effects  ;  but  then,  speaking  thus  fettered  will  not  be 
miscalled  preaching,  by  any  save  the  “blissful  igno¬ 
rant,”  to  whom  all  kinds  of  pulpit  utterance  are 
alike.  Without  extending  the  subject,  we  will  give 
our  author’s  summing  up  of  his  argument  on  the 
general  question,  from  the  tenor  of  which  we  should 
not  feel  seriously  inclined  to  dissent : 

u  What.,  then,  must  he  the  conclusion  of  the  matter,  so  far  as 
students  of  theology  are  concerned  ?  It  is  obviously  this :  1 . 
They  should  aim  in  the  course  of  their  education  both  to  read 
and  speak  sermons  well.  The  best  speaker  may,  through  the 
loss  of  memory,  or  the  want  of  time  to  commit  his  sermon,  find  it 
necessary  to  fall  back  upon  his  notes,  and  read  them  ;  then  the 
art  of  reading  becomes  a  valuable  acquisition.  So  the  best 
reader  may  be  placed  in  circumstances  which  require  him  to 
speak  without  notes ;  how  useful,  then,  will  be  his  speaking 
talent.  He  will  not  be  silent,  but  do  the  best  he  can,  for  he  is 
not  a  bound  slave  to  his  manuscript.  Let,  then,  both  the  gift  of 
reading  and  the  accomplishment  of  speaking  be  cultivated  in  a 
theological  school.  2.  Every  theological  student  should  seriously 
examine  into  his  natural  and  acquired  gifts,  and  try  to  ascertain 
whether  these  gifts  fit  him  to  be  a  better  reader  than  a  speaker 
of  sermons,  or  vice  versd.  Some,  through  indolence,  will  give 
the  preference  to  reading,  though  they  read  ill ;  others,  from 
love  of  praise,  will  play  the  orator,  when  they  should  adhere  to 


DR.  CANNON'S  PASTORAL  THEOLOGY. 


411 


their  manuscripts.  That  mode  of  delivery  should  be  adopted  by 
the  preacher  which  corresponds  best  with  his  gifts,  and  this  he 
should  pursue.” — P.  231. 

A  similar  line  of  remark  is  pursued  by  Dr.  Yinet, 
in  his  work  on  Pastoral  Theology,  recently  presented 
to  the  American  reader  by  his  accomplished  trans¬ 
lator,  Rev.  Dr.  Skinner.  Extemporaneous  preaching, 
except  where  it  is  unavoidable,  he  disallows  abso¬ 
lutely.  He  is  for  having  the  young  preacher  write 
and  recite,  but  to  give  ideas  the  preference  to  words 
in  the  memory,  and  in  all  cases  to  prepare  well  and 
solidly.  His  observations  are  pertinent  and  striking, 
and  well  deserve  to  be  weighed.  And,  since  we  have 
introduced  the  name  of  the  late  well-known  profes¬ 
sor  at  Lausanne,  we  cannot  dismiss  him  or  his  work 
without  a  passing  remark.  His  “  Pastoral  Theology” 
is,  in  many  respects,  worthy  of  his  distinguished 
reputation,  and  deserves  to  be  considered  as  a  valu¬ 
able  contribution  to  our  theological  literature.  It 
bears,  like  “  Gospel  Studies,”  u  Separation  of  Church 
from  the  State,”  and  other  works  from  the  same 
hand,  the  characteristic  marks  of  a  mind  of  great 
power  and  fertility.  It  breathes  a  tone  deeply  evan¬ 
gelical.  It  displays  a  happy  facility  both  in  analysis 
and  arrangement.  It  is  marked,  in  parts  at  least,  by 


412 


DK.  CANNON’S  PASTOKAL  THEOLOGY. 


a  spirit  genuinely  philosophic.  Its  thoughts  have  an 
air  of  originality,  while  the  expression  is  charac¬ 
terized  by  a  certain  picturesque  terseness  and  viva¬ 
city,  which  greatly  heighten  its  effect.  It  is  less 
enigmatically  metaphysical  than  parts  of  the  u  Gos¬ 
pel  Studies,”  and,  though  compactly  written,  is  sel¬ 
dom  obscure.  The  following  passage,  however,  will 
perhaps  hardly  justify  the  translator’s  encomium  on 
the  “  beautiful  simplicity”  of  his  author’s  language  : 

“  The  true  form  of  a  sermon  is  composed  of  the  double  im¬ 
pression  of  the  subject,  and  of  the  subjectivity  of  the  orator. 
The  form  of  a  sermon  acknowledges  only  these  two  laws,  which, 
so  far  from  opposing,  combine  with  one  another. 

“  As  to  the  general  forms  which  we  may  observe  among 
preachers,  as  the  psychological  and  logical  form,  that  of  continu¬ 
ous  discourse,  and  that  of  parallel  developments,  or  of  discourse 
ramified,  the  analytical  and  synthetical  sermon,  they  are  neither 
conventional  nor  artificial ;  they  are  less  differences  of  form  than 
of  thought,  points  of  view,  methods  of  conceiving  the  subject  of 
discourse.  They  exist  in  the  subjects  themselves,  and  in  the 
human  mind,  anterior  to  all  tradition. 

“  There  is  the  same  difference  between  the  conventional  and 
spontaneous  form  as  there  is  between  the  two  physiological  sys¬ 
tems,  one  of  which  makes  the  prominences  of  the  skull  to 
depend  on  the  internal  developments  of  the  brain,  and  the 
other  these  same  developments  to  depend  on  the  prominences 
of  the  skull ;  one  expressiug  the  internal  by  the  external,  the 


DE.  CANNON’S  PASTOEAL  THEOLOGY.  413 

other,  by  the  external  compressing  and  determining  the  internal ; 

„  one,  subordinating  the  external  to  the  internal,  the  other,  the 
internal  to  the  external.  We  ourselves  prefer,  that  the  external 
should  spring  from  the  internal,  and  in  respect  to  form,  we  give 
no  rule  but  this.” — Pp.  215,  216. 

There  are  not  many  passages,  however,  like  the 
above,  whose  precise  idea,  words  either  conceal,  or 
force  ns  to  look  at,  as  it  were  “  through  a  glass 
darkly.”  On  the  more  practical  subjects,  the  author 
is  sufficiently  direct  and  clear;  his  simplicity  is 
often  very  engaging.  A  considerable  portion  of  the 
volume  is  occupied  with  subjects  of  this  description, 
forbidding  from  their  very  nature,  those  metaphysi¬ 
cal  excursions  toward  which  the  author’s  mind  had 
a  strong  bias.  His  book  furnishes,  in  some  respects, 
a  lively  contrast  to  that  of  Dr.  Cannon.  He  has  a 
more  vivid  imagination,  an  easier  flow  of  words,  a 
more  racy  style  of  expression,  greater  copiousness  of 
illustration,  and  more  picturesqueness  in  the  presen¬ 
tation  of  a  thought.  He  has  surveyed  some  topics 
which  Dr.  Cannon  has  wholly  passed  by,  to  the 
serious  detriment  of  the  completeness  of  his  work. 
Among  these  may  be  instanced  the  subject  of  the 
minister’s  domestic  life,  embracing  his  “  house  and 
household  economy,”  the  “  government  of  his  family,” 
and  the  subjects  of  u  the  choice  of  a  parish”  and 


414  dr.  cannon’s  pastoral  theology. 

“ministerial  changes,”  with  some  others  included 
within  the  chapter  on  “Worship.”  Several  of  these 
topics  are  too  interesting,  and  belong  too  intimately 
to  the  experiences  and  duties  of  a  pastor,  not  to 
deserve  a  prominent  place  in  treatises  of  this  charac¬ 
ter.  On  those  points,  too,  which  are  discussed  by 
both  writers,  it  is  striking  to  observe  the  different 
forms  of  expression  given  by  them  respectively  to 
similar  ideas,  and  how  the  matter  described  has 
more  or  less  distinctness,  proportion,  and  body,  as 
presented  to  us  from  this  or  that  position,  or  through 
the  medium  of  this  or  the  other  mind. 

On  some  topics  which  we  should  have  expected 
Dr.  Yinet  to  treat  copiously,  he  is  meagre  and  un¬ 
satisfactory  enough.  The  subject  of  prayer,  so  fully 
and  luminously  surveyed  by  Dr.  Cannon,  and  obvi¬ 
ously  involving  the  highest  interests  of  both  pastor 
and  people,  has,  in  the  transmarine  treatise,  hardly 
the  cold  respect  of  a  passing  glance  devoted  to  its 
character  and  claims.  The  comprehensive  and 
deeply  interesting  subject  of  the  sacraments,  to 
which,  with  their  cognate  questions,  Dr.  Cannon 
devotes  not  less  than  fifteen  lectures,  is  almost  wholly 
omitted  by  Dr.  Yinet,  for  the  reason,  we  suppose, 
that  the  subject  was  regarded  by  him  as  ranging 
appropriately  under  some  other  department  of  the- 


DR.  CANNON’S  PASTORAL  THEOLOGY. 


415 


ology.  There  are,  moreover,  some  matters  intro¬ 
duced  of  a  character  more  congenial  to  a  transat¬ 
lantic  atmosphere  than  to  our  own,  while,  upon  the 
questions  of  liturgies  and  the  perpetuity  of  the 
Sabbatic  obligation,  the  translator  has  not  thought 
proper  to  suffer  the  author’s  views  to  stand  unchal¬ 
lenged,  and  has  accordingly  expressed  his  dissent 
from  them  in  the  appendix  to  the  volume. 

These  reasons,  among  others,  dispose  us  to  give 
the  preference,  both  as  a  class-book  and  one  for 
ordinary  readers,  to  the  lectures  of  the  American 
professor.  They  form  a  book  which  combines,  in 
our  judgment,  more  fully  than  the  other,  the  quali¬ 
ties  which  a  treatise  of  the  kind  ought  to  possess, 
and  better  adapt  it  for  the  use  and  profit  of  the 
young  men  among  us,  who  are  preparing  to  enter  on 
the  responsible  work  of  the  Christian  ministry.  Its 
entire  freedom  from  anything  speculative  or  misty, 
its  thoroughly  practical  character,  the  sterling  good 
sense  and  judgment  which  pervade  it,  the  lofty  tone 
of  its  moral  inculcations,  its  admirable  arrangement, 
its  large  and  catholic  spirit,  its  homogeneity  to  the 
liberal  institutions  whose  spirit  is  reflected  by  the 
American  church,  with  a  style,  which,  if  not  bril¬ 
liant,  is  yet  dignified,  expressive  and  forcible,  all  bid 
us  esteem  it  very  highly,  and  through  it,  its  departed 


416 


DR.  CANNON’S  PASTORAL  THEOLOGY. 


author,  “  for  Iris  work’s  sake.”  It  well  deserves  a 
favored  place  in  the  theological  class,  and  in  the 
Christian  family,  where  it  could  hardly  he  perused 
with  thoughtful  attention  without  affording  a  plea¬ 
sant  and  strengthening  repast. 

We  have  but  a  single  word  to  add.  The  lines 
which  we  have  traced  have  had  for  us  a  deeper 
interest  than  they  can  have,  peradventure,  for  the 
ordinary  reader.  They  have  served  to  revive  asso¬ 
ciations  at  once  pensive  and  pleasant.  We  have 
seemed  to  sit  once  more  at  the  feet  of  an  honored 
instructor,  and  listen,  as  in  days  gone  by,  to  lessons 
imparted  in  faith,  hope,  and  love,  but  too  negligently 
received,  alas !  as  the  living  voice  conveyed  them. 
We  have  looked  again  upon  the  manly  form,  blend¬ 
ing  dignity  with  grace,  upon  each  well-remembered 
lineament  of  a  countenance  which  petulance  and 
passion  could  not  ruffle,  while  we  have  seemed  to 
hear  the  calm  earnest  tones  of  a  voice,  wont  to  utter 
many  a  sage  counsel  besides  those  preserved  by  the 
printed  page.  It  would  be  strange,  if  soothing  and 
grateful  sentiments  should  be  divorced  from  such 
recollections,  or  fail  to  impart  a  tone  of  kindliness  to 
the  terms  in  which  we  have  spoken  of  the  departed 
teacher  and  his  work.  Knowing  very  well  how 
prone  the  feelings  are  to  bias  the  judgment,  we  find 


DE.  CANNON’S  PASTOEAL  THEOLOGY. 


417 


little  trouble  in  conceiving  that  wliat  has  seemed 
greatly  commendable  to  us  may  be  less  decidedly  so 
to  others.  We  feel,  notwithstanding,  strong  confi¬ 
dence  that  when  the  perfectly  sober  verdict  shall 
have  come,  with  no  partialities  of  any  kind  to  warp 
it,  it  will  prove  to  be  not  less  favorable  to  the  piety 
and  diligence  of  the  author,  than  to  the  enduring 
merits  of  his  book. 


18* 


GOD’S  WAY  IN  THE  SEA. 


(A  Sermon  on  the  loss  of  the  Arctic,  preached,  Oct.  22d,  1854.) 

“  Thy  way  is  in  the  sea,  and  thy  path  in  the  great  waters,  and  thy 
footsteps  are  not  known.” — Psalm  lxxviii.  19, 


The  Sea  is  one  of  tlie  stupendous  products  and 
proofs  of  the  Divine  power  and  skill.  Beheld  in  any 
of  its  phases  it  proclaims  Jehovah  to  he  its  maker, 
and  brings  vividly  before  the  thoughtful  mind  the 
boundless  deeps,  the  awful  energies  of  the  Infinite. 
Viewed  in  a  calm,  its  broad  bosom  upheaving  with 
its  mighty  respirations,  and  its  sluggish  billows  roll¬ 
ing  with  sullen  roar  upon  the  sand,  it  presents  the 
picture  of  terrific  power  in  repose.  Its  very  rest  is 
terrible  and  suggestive — for  we  think  how  easy  it  is 
for  the  hand  that  made,  controls,  and  confines  it,  to  let 
loose  upon  it  the  spirit  of  the  storm,  to  rouse  it  up 
from  its  lethargy,  toss  its  billows  to  the  skies,  threat¬ 
ening,  in  its  phrensied  rage,  damage  and  death  to  all 
who  float  upon  its  surface.  Then  when  the  tempest 
is  abroad,  and  deep  calleth  unto  deep,  and  wave 


god’s  way  in  the  sea. 


419 


lashes  wave  in  tlie  strife  and  uproar  of  the  uncurbed 
waters,  what  a  pigmy  is  man  !  How  puny  his  prow¬ 
ess,  how  insignificant  his  skill  and  forecast,  how  vain 
his  pride  and  pomp  and  resources,  amid  this  frightful 
war  of  the  elements.  The  bark  that  bears  him  seems 
a  bubble,  tossed  hither  and  thither  at  the  mere  sport 
or  scorn  of  winds  and  waves.  He  goes  up  to  the 
clouds,  reeling  and  staggering  like  a  drunken  man, 
and  anon  sinks  into  the  yawning  abyss,  happy,  if  in 
his  descent  he  be  not  dashed  on  rocks  or  quicksands 
lying  in  wait  to  destroy  him.  God  have  mercy  upon 
the  poor  mariners  in  such  a  time  as  this ;  and  when 
they  cry  unto  Him  in  their  trouble,  may  He  who 
maketh  the  storm  a  calm  and  the  waves  thereof  still, 
bring  them  safely  out  of  their  distresses. 

Frightful  as  the  sea  may  become,  and  destructive 
as  its  wrathful  energies  often  are  to  man,  it  is  yet  one 
of  his  best  and  most  unwearied  benefactors.  Its 
capacious  bosom  receives  without  repining  the  floods 
of  waters  poured  down  ceaselessly  from  mountain  and 
highland,  each  rill,  rivulet,  river,  stream,  great  or 
small,  bearing  its  tribute  to  the  same  mighty  reser¬ 
voir  provided  for  it,  and  without  which  the  fruits  of 
the  ground,  and  the  dwellings  of  man,  would  be  con¬ 
stantly  liable  to  inundation.  The  vapor  which  the 
sun’s  rays  detach  from  the  sea,  goes  up  in  the  form 


420 


god’s  way  in  the  sea. 

of  clouds,  and  becomes  the  cisterns  of  the  skies, 
which  being  opened,  the  gentle  dews  and  showers 
descend  upon  the  evil  and  the  good,  making  the  fur¬ 
rows  soft,  and  the  little  hills  clap  their  hands,  and  the 
heart  of  man  rej  oice.  The  fishy  treasures  of  the  sea 
furnish  the  daily  bread  of  multitudes,  which  but  for 
these  would  hardly  have  husks  to  keep  them  from 
starvation.  The  circumambient  waves  have  constituted 
to  many  nations,  walls  and  ramparts,  which  haugh¬ 
tiest  enemies  have  lacked  the  hardihood  and  power 
to  scale — and  behind  these  impregnable  bulwarks 
they  have  laughed  to  scorn  the  impotent  menaces  of 
the  oppressor.  The  unwearied  sea  bears  up  the  ves¬ 
sels  of  all  nations,  which,  obeying  the  promptings  of 
enterprise  and  commerce,  glide  along  in  all  directions 
over  this  ever  open  and  ever  prepared  highway, 
exchanging  the  products  of  the  most  remote  climes — 
bringing  civilized  and  barbarous  regions  into  close 
association — carrying  the  living  missionary  with 
the  lamp  of  life,  to  the  doors  of  the  benighted,  and 
scattering  the  benefits  of  science,  art,  literature,  and 
all  that  Christian  civilization  affords,  among  the 
inhabitants  needing  most  to  be  elevated,  refined,  and 
blessed  by  such  intercommunion. 

Without  greater  detail,  these  glances  will  show  us 
what  the  sea  is,  as  a  universal  benefactor,  and  what 


god’s  way  in  the  sea. 


421 


nations  and  individual  man  owe  to  its  lavishly  scat¬ 
tered  and  inexhaustible  supplies,  its  succoring  energy, 
and  prodigally  scattered  stores.  With  all  its  treach¬ 
ery,  it  is  yet  one  of  man’s  best  and  most  constant 
friends,  as  untiring  in  doing  him  good  as  the  ever 
open  hand  of  Him  who  made  it.  Though  ever  and 
anon  it  rises  into  rage,  hurling  man  hither  and  thither, 
with  the  proudest  fabrics  which  his  science  and  skill 
have  constructed  to  guard  his  life,  scattering  navies 
tall  and  proud,  dashing  ship  against  ship,  foiling  the 
most  desperate  and  agonizing  struggles,  baffling  the 
best  laid  plans,  and  burying  man  and  his  hopes  and 
most  precious  treasures,  together,  deep  in  its  remorse¬ 
less  waves — it  yet  continues  on  a  grand  scale  to  do 
its  work  of  kindness  and  mercy  to  the  human  race, 
smiling  upon  man,  and  with  soft  breezes  wooing  him 
to  launch  forth  upon  its  bosom,  and  seek  pleasure, 
health,  knowledge,  gain — as  though  it  were  incapable 
of  harming  the  humblest  mortal  that  trusts  to  its 
aid,  and  makes  its  watery  wastes  the  pathway  to  his 
obj  ect. 

There  is  much  of  mystery  about  the  sea.  This 
idea  is  ever  associated  with  it,  and  enhances  the  awe 
with  which  the  mind  is  prone  to  regard  it.  Standing 
on  the  sea  shore,  or  on  the  deck  of  a  vessel  out  of 

X  • 

sight  of  land,  the  broad  expanse  which  the  eye  takes 


422 


god’s  way  in  the  sea. 


in,  is  but  a  fragment  of  the  whole  volume  of  water 
that  rolls  round  all  the  earth.  How  vast  and  mys¬ 
terious  unspeakably,  is  the  whole  accumulated  bulk. 
How  far  down,  down,  down,  do  those  briny  waves 
descend  below  the  deceitful  surface.  There  are  spots 
where  fathom  line  can  never  reach  the  ground. 
What  wonderous  caves,  what  j  agged  and  horrid  sur¬ 
faces,  what  rugged  mountains  perchance,  and  scarce 
less  rugged  vales,  what  forms  of  beauty,  gems,  pearls, 
reefs  of  coral,  conjoined  to  the  slow-accumulating 
treasures  of  many  a  wreck — what  charnel-houses  of 
bones  of  dead  men  and  animals,  petrified  from  the 
lapse  of  time  and  the  action  of  water — what  forms  of 
life,  grotesque,  monstrous,  drawing  sustenance  from 
the  recesses  of  the  mighty  abyss,  might  astonish  the 
eye,  were  the  waters  to  leave  their  bed  and  the  bot¬ 
tom  of  the  sea  be  unfolded  to  view.  In  this  great 
and  wide  sea  leviathan  is  made  to  play,  and  things 
creeping  innumerable,  both  small  and  great  beasts, 
sport  upon  its  surface  or  gambol  in  its  depths.  The 
mysterious  veil  of  waters  hides  from  sight  all  the 
trophies  which  the  sea’s  insatiable  greed  has  seized 
and  collected  for  centuries,  out  of  human  lives  and 
works  and  wealth.  Its  very  calm  is  shrouded  in 
mystery,  and  its  awful  stillness  may  only  presage  the 
thunder  of  the  storm,  the  wild  commotion,  and  the 


god’s  way  in  the  sea. 


423 


succeeding  wreck  and  ruin.  They  that  go  down  to 
the  sea  in  ships,  that  do  business  in  the  great  waters, 
see  the  Lord’s  works  and  wonders  in  the  deep  and 
stand  in  awe  of  Him  when  the  waves  lift  up  their 
voice — and  to  each  thoughtful  gazer  on  the  same 
works  and  wonders,  the  mystery  that  overhangs 
these  wide-spread  w^atery  realms  of  God,  increases 
the  awe,  by  making  the  heart  feel  “  thy  way,  O  God, 
is  in  the  sea,  thy  path  in  the  great  waters,  and  thy 
footsteps  are  not  known.” 

And  thus  the  wide  unfathomable  ocean  symbolizes 
God.  It  is  an  emblem — slight  and  inadequate  in¬ 
deed,  but  adapted  to  a  vision  and  faculties  so  narrow 
as  ours — of  might,  majesty,  grandeur,  terribleness, 
resources  divine.  In  its  calm  and  storm,  its  smiles 
and  frowns,  the  benefits  it  confers  unweariedly  upon 
men,  its  inexhaustible  resources,  the  awful  thunder 
of  its  voice,  its  terrible  capability  to  work  dis¬ 
may  and  ruin,  the  impenetrable  screen  which  hides 
its  secrecies  from  mortal  eye,  the  unchangeableness 
of  its  features  and  character  from  age  to  age,  cycle 
to  cycle — it  strikingly  images  to  us  the  Almighty 
maker  who  gave  the  sea  its  bounds  and  said  to  its 
proud  waves  from  the  beginning,  u  hitherto  shalt  thou 
come  and  no  farther.”  It  proclaims  God,  reflects 
God,  points  to  the  mind  of  God,  in  each  billow  and 


424 


god’s  way  in  the  sea. 


cavern,  in  everything  beautiful  and  beneficent,  and 
mysterious  and  terrible,  that  marks  it  or  belongs  to 
it.  And  in  looking  from  the  sea  up  to  Him  who 
made  it,  the  devout  soul  owns  with  an  involuntary 
burst  of  wonder  and  awe,  “  O  Lord,  how  great  are 
thy  works,  and  thy  thoughts  are  very  deep.” 

Much  mystery  shrouds  the  dangers  besetting  the 
life  of  those  who  go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships.  Shall 
they  who  boldly  launch  forth  upon  the  ocean  wave, 
for  a  voyage  of  days,  or  weeks,  or  months,  reach  the  de¬ 
sired  haven,  and  safely  set  foot  on  the  dry  land  again  ? 
“They  surely  shall,”  so  Confidence  whispers.  “They 
may  never  more  come  back,  but  perish  and  be  buried 
in  the  sea” — so  Fear  and  Doubt,  and  perhaps  Mis¬ 
trust  suggest.  “Ships  are  but  boards  and  sailors 
but  men.”  Winds,  waves,  rocks,  sands,  flames,  fogs, 
collisions,  all  suggest  perils,  besides  those  unseen 
causes  of  destruction  more  fatal  sometimes,  because 
man  does  not  guard  against  what  he  does  not  see  and 
dread.  The  heaviest  calamity  often  springs  from  a 
cause  the  least  regarded.  The  President  and  the 
City  of  Glasgow  perished  amid  the  waves,  and  none 
has  returned  to  tell  what  unexpected  blow  stilled  the 
brave  hearts  that  beat  upon  their  decks.  The  dread¬ 
ful  secret  is  safe  in  the  bosom  of  the  sea — safe  as  the 
sad  secret  which  has  locked  up  for  years,  from  the 


god’s  way  in  the  sea. 


425 


sympathy  and  curiosity  of  the  world,  the  fate  of  Sir 
John  Franklin*  and  his  gallant  crews,  and  promises 
to  lock  it  np  for  ever,  though  tender  hearts  and  strong 
arms  dare  compass  the  very  pole,  to  wrest,  if  it  were 
possible,  from  the  eternal  ice  that  guards  it,  a 
solution  of  the  mournful  mystery. 

No  common  or  looked  for  blow  struck  successfully 
at  the  life  of  the  Arctic,  as  she  ploughed  her  gallant 
way  toward  her  home-haven  whose  arms  were  open 
to  receive  her.  No  danger,  of  this  nature  at  least, 
was  apprehended  by  her  gallant  commander,  or  by 
the  hearts  of  the  many  with  him,  beating  fresher  as 
home  drew  nigher,  and  feeling  increasing  confidence 
from  his  own  security.  It  was  a  casual  shock  as  it 
seemed,  and  one  too  slight  to  awaken  fear, — the  oc¬ 
currence  of  which  a  moment  before  seemed  barely 
possible, — the  effect  of  which,  now  that  it  has  come, 
cannot  prove  disastrous.  Not  so,  misjudging  and 
hapless  wayfarers  on  the  sea !  Death  sits  upon  the 

*  If  the  recent  intelligence  of  the  discovery  of  the  bones  of  Sir 
John  Franklin  and  his  companions  be  authentic,  one  mystery  of 
the  sea  at  least  has  been  eplained.  The  story  has  something  of  a 
dubious  look.  But  as  certainty  in  a  case  like  this  is  so  much  bet  er 
than  suspense,  we  hope  to  find  the  r  port  confirm  d.  Of  course  all 
rational  hope  of  the  heroic  navigators  being  yet  alive,  has  long  since 
been  abandoned. 


426 


god’s  way  in  the  sea. 


prow  of  the  doomed  vessel,  and  you  will  soon  see, 
though  you  see  not  now,  the  grim  presence  that  so 
appals.  He  is  there  to  hold  a  carnival  upon  the  sea ; 
but  not  without  God’s  presence  or  permission  is  he 
there.  Mightier  than  Death,  mightier  than  the 
waves  of  the  sea,  mightier  than  the  universe,  whose 
forces  he  holds  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  is  One  who 
sees  the  end  of  the  voyage  from  its  beginning,  with 
the  interval  that  divides  the  two  extremes,  and  the 
dangers,  slight  or  imminent,  that  environ  every  step. 
It  is  the  great  and  sovereign  and  mysterious  Lord, 
who  is  in  all  places  and  about  every  pathway, 
whether  on  the  deep  or  on  the  dry  land ;  whose 
“  way  is  in  the  sea,  whose  path  is  in  the  great  waters, 
and  whose  footsteps  are  not  known.” 

There  is,  my  brethren,  in  this  direful  calamity, 
which  has  shrouded  so  many  families  in  sackcloth, 
and  to  a  certain  extent  brought  the  whole  nation  as 
mourners,  at  this  great  burial  in  the  waves,  much, 
that  to  our  imperfect  sense  wears  an  aspect  of 
extraordinary  strangeness  and  mystery.  Obvious¬ 
ly  the  mystery  is  confined  to  us  who  are  of  yes¬ 
terday  and  know  nothing :  to  God  it  is  not  a  mys¬ 
tery,  and  cannot  be  such.  The  relation  which 
our  little  and  limited  understanding  bears  to  the 
Infinite  intelligence,  is  such  as  perpetually  to  re- 


god’s  way  in  the  sea. 


427 


mind  us  of  our  insignificance.  In  our  utter  helpless¬ 
ness  we  need  to  lean  upon  the  arm  that  moves  and 
upholds  all  things.  In  darkness,  doubt,  and  despair, 
the  soul  beseechingly  stretches  forth  its  hands,  for 
the  Divine  light  and  guidance.  God  knows  what¬ 
ever  transcends  the  limits  of  finite  knowledge — un¬ 
ravels  the  most  tangled  complications — is  not  affected 
by  the  chaos  and  confusion  which  besliroud  our 
faculties — has  a  certain  purpose  where  mortals  can 
discern  only  chance,  and  in  the  dire  calamities  which 
stun,  oppress,  and  overwhelm  whole  communities 
and  even  nations,  remains  ever  the  same  wise,  just, 
merciful,  and  good  Lord,  u  whose  way  is  in  the  sea, 
whose  path  is  in  the  great  waters,  and  whose  foot¬ 
steps  are  not  known.”  It  is  in  this  aspect  of  the  case 
that  I  would  view  the  recent  calamity,  which  has 
brought  bereavement  and  anguish  into  so  many 
homes.  It  is  wisdom  for  the  heart-stricken,  baffled, 
confounded,  to  lift  itself  to  God:  rest  for  the  tossed 
spirit  may  be  found  there,  and  consolation  too. 

The  nnmber  of  the  Arctic’s  passengers  was  unusu¬ 
ally  large,  and  composed  to  an  unwonted  extent  of 
persons  of  mark  and  influence,  whose  loss  would  be 
likely  to  make  the  widest  gap  in  society.  Hot  that 
one  man’s  life  is  dearer  than  another,  or  his  soul  in¬ 
trinsically  more  precious.  But  society  is  constituted 


428 


god’s  WAY  m  THE  SEA. 


so,  that  talent,  education,  means,  social  culture,  invest 
men  with  an  influence,  and  power,  and  position,  not 
possessed  or  occupied  by  those  lacking  these  requi¬ 
sites,  and  making  their  loss  more  widely  felt  and  dis¬ 
astrous  when  the  places  knowing  them  know  them 
no  more.  Whence  had  all  these  persons  come,  and 
by  what  chance  were  they  all  thrown  on  this  home¬ 
ward  hound  vessel  ?  Some  had  spent  months  in 
foreign  lands — had  floated  on  the  Nile  and  gazed 
wonderingly  upon  the  hoary  Pyramids — had  stood 
beneath  the  dome  of  St.  Peter’s,  exploring  the  curi¬ 
osities  of  Italian  art — had  gazed  from  the  vale  of 
Chamouni  upon  the  awful  grandeur  of  Mont  Blanc ; 
had  visited  what  lands  and  seen  what  sights  they 
chose — and  now,  with  many  a  trophy  taken  from  the 
memorable  spots  trodden  by  their  venturesome  feet, 
and  with  health  renewed  by  the  strengthening  tour, 
they  were  recrossing  the  bridge  of  billows  wdiich 
alone  separated  them  from  the  loved  ones  left  at 
home.  Others  had  been  drawn  over  the  sea  by  the 
demands  of  business,  and  their  purposes  achieved, 
were  returning  home  after  a  shorter  absence.  The 
places  which  some  filled  on  board  the  ill-fated  vessel, 
were  those  which  others  had  designed  to  fill.  The 
exchange  seemed  the  result  of  chance  or  was  brought 
about  by  unforeseen  circumstances,  not  looked  upon 


GOD'S  WAY  IN  TIIE  SEA. 


429 


as  greatly  important  at  the  time,  but  involving  no 
less  an  alternative  than  life  or  death.  Some,  acain, 
were  voyaging  towards  the  New  World  for  the  first 
time,  with  the  same  lively  curiosity  and  high  wrought 
expectations  that  an  American  would  feel  on  his  first 
passage  towards  Europe.  Among  these  was  that 
unfortunate  young  French  nobleman,  who  had  de¬ 
signed  to  embark  for  this  country  several  months 
before,  but  had  twice  been  thwarted  by  circumstan¬ 
ces  which  he  could  not  control,  and  impatient  of 
longer  delay,  had  been  hurried  off  by  his  family, 
that  he  might  reach  the  vessel  before  she  sailed,  and 
as  it  proved,  shared  the  sad  fate  of  the  most  who 
embarked  with  him.  In  a  recent  letter  by  one  of  his 
countrymen  (Baron  de  Trobriand),  giving  an  account 
of  his  family  and  the  circumstances  of  his  coming  to 
this  country,  the  writer  remarks,  “  no  one  can  escape 
his  destiny,  and  here  is  a  striking  example  of  it.” 
This  is  true,  though  destiny  is  not  blind  fate,  reckless 
of  God,  but  the  mysterious  development  of  plans  too 
deep  for  man  to  fathom,  the  result  of  that  wisdom 
which  hath  appointed  the  bounds  of  man  that  he 
cannot  pass.  And  in  this  view  no  man  can  escape 
his  destiny ;  and,  strange  as  may  appear,  the  concur¬ 
rence  of  causes  which  assembled  the  throng  on  the 
Arctic’s  decks,  for  whom  death  was  waiting — terrible 


430 


god’s  way  in  the  sea. 

as  was  the  surprise  to  find  the  billows  that  should 
have  borne  them  home,  about  to  become  their  wind¬ 
ing-sheet  and  grave — paralysing  as  must  have  been 
the  thought  of  encountering  death  on  the  deep,  in 
place  of  the  solacing  endearments  of  family  and 
friends  longing  to  embrace  them — let  us  not  detach 
from  this  mournful  catastrophe  that  all-controlling 
Providence  which  heeds  each  sparrow’s  fall  and 
compasses  our  individual  pathway,  but  draw  rather 
from  the  very  weight  and  mystery  of  the  strokes  he 
sends  fresh  grounds  of  confidence  in  the  wisdom  of 
his  administration. 

The  time,  mode,  and  circumstances  of  this  great 
calamity,  are  such  as  to  deepen  the  impression  of  its 
strangeness  and  mystery.  The  gallant  ship  had 
crossed  the  sea  many  times  before,  and  always  with 
safety,  though  visible  terrors  had  at  times  threatened 
her.  She  was  a  noble  specimen  of  the  genius,  art,  and 
science,  which  have  given  glory  to  this  branch  of  our 
marine.  She  was  fitted  to  grapple  with  the  ocean  in 
his  worst  fits  of  plirensy,  and  dared  to  defy  the  ocean 
waves  to  do  their  worst,  though  now  no  storm  was 
abroad  to  call  her  powers  of  resistance  and  of  van¬ 
quishing  into  requisition.  No  thick  darkness  brooded 
on  the  sea,  to  invite  disaster,  and  confound  the  skill 
and  resources  that  might  be  exerted  to  baffle  it.  But 


god’s  way  in  the  sea. 


431 


there  was  midday  and  the  calm  to  lull  all  fears  to 

rest.  And  though  the  fog  was  there,  as  it  always  is 

% 

in  that  region,  yet  its  curtain  was  lifted  frequently, 
enabling  the  watchful  pilot  to  see  far  before  and 
around  him.  And  had  the  fog  remained  dense  and 
unyielding  even,  so  broad  is  the  great  highway  of 
waters,  that  days  sometimes  elapse  under  the  bright¬ 
est  sky,  ere  one  vessel  sees  another  on  the  sea.  Each 
vessel  that  traverses  the  Atlantic  is  said  to  have  on 
the  average  seventy  square  miles  of  sea  room  to  itself, 
and  the  chances  of  collision,  according  to  Capt.  Luce’s 
testimony,  are  hardly  as  one  to  a  thousand.  No  dan¬ 
ger  was  therefore  apprehended.  But  danger  was 
nevertheless  at  hand,  and  the  shock  came  at  the 
moment  of  greatest  apparent  security.  The  jar  was 
almost  unperceived,  and  the  injury  received  too  tri¬ 
vial  to  alarm  the  most  timid  soul.  But  in  that  slight 
jar  there  was  death.  The  stout,  brave  vessel  had 
received  her  mortal  stab.  Her  decks  soon  presented 
a  scene  of  the  wildest  confusion  and  dismay.  To 
look  through  the  vista  of  a  few  hours  and  see  the 
friendly  haven,  and  anxious,  loving  friends  waiting 
to  welcome,  and  the  family  circle  with  all  it  contains 
to  soothe  and  solace  the  returned  wanderers  after 
their  separation,  and  to  make  them  feel  how  far  more 
precious  to  them  than  all  the  Old  World  contains  are 


432 


god’s  way  in  the  sea. 


tlie  simple  joys  of  home — to  have  this  vista  suddenly 
closed  by  ghastly  death  in  a  terrible  form — Oh,  the 
revulsion  is  too  horrible  for  words  to  express,  and  I 
gladly  draw  a  veil  over  the  agonies  of  those  few 
mortal  hours  before  the  doomed  vessel  sank  under  the 
treacherous  waves — agonies,  which  those  who  have 
been  saved  from  the  sea,  and  recounted  their  most 
mournful  story,  one  by  one,  to  thrill  the  heart  of  the 
nation,  have  had  experience  of  in  part,  though  their 
simple,  graphic  words  fall  far  short,  as  we  easily  feel, 
of  the  stupendous  reality. 

And  as  we  sit  safely  in  our  comfortable  homes,  and 
speculate  upon  this  disaster,  we  think  and  say  that 
this  great  loss  of  life  ought  not  to  have  been,  even 
after  the  vessel  was  death-struck  and  must  go  down 
in  the  deep.  "W e  think  how  widely  different  a  result, 
filling  countless  houses  with  joy,  which  are  now  robed 
in  sackcloth,  should,  and  with  the  proper  manage¬ 
ment  would,  have  come  to  pass — how,  if  the  noble 
captain,  in  the  first  alarm,  and  under  a  wrong  impres¬ 
sion  as  to  the  damage  sustained  by  the  other  vessel, 
had  not  dispatched  to  her  aid  his  first  officer  Gourlie 
(may  God  preserve  his  life  amid  encompassing  perils), 
whose  influence  upon  the  crew  is  acknowledged  to 
have  been  most  direct  and  commanding — or  if  he 
had  received  him  back  again  when  he  returned  to  his 


433 


god’s  WAY  m  THE  SEA. 

own  ship,  thus  establishing  and  holding  that  subordi¬ 
nation  and  systematic  determined  effort  adapted  to 
the  crisis — the  lives  of  very  many  more  must  have 
been  saved,  besides  those  of  the  wretched,  faithless 
cowards  who  fled  from  their  post,  and  purchased  safety 
for  themselves  by  leaving  others  to  destruction.  Or 
if  the  vessels  could  only  have  known  each  other’s 
real  condition,  and  have  kept  together,  there  was 
ample  time  to  transfer  every  soul  from  the  foundering 
shfp  to  the  one  that  had  life  and  vigor  enough  left  to 
carry  them  all  to  shore.  Or,  if  in  the  confusion  of 
the  hour,  sufficient  order  could  have  been  preserved, 
to  place  in  each  boat  all  whom  it  could  have  safely 
carried,  the  sea  would  have  had  snatched  from  its  jaws 
three-fourths  of  the  victims  whom  it  was  waiting  to 
devour.  W e  think  of  each  helping,  saving  thing  that 
might  have  varied  the  result  and  turned  death  away 
from  his  expected  prey.  We  feel  oppressed  by  this 
mysterious,  wholesale  destruction  upon  the  sea.  We 
wonder  at  the  mystery,  blame  the  craven  and  false¬ 
hearted,  admire  with  tears  the  lofty  heroism  which 
placed  duty  before  death,  and  feel  a  sympathetic 
anguish  with  the  torn  hearts,  whose  wounds  long  years 
can  hardly  staunch.  But  we  must  not  forget  God  in 
this  hour  of  calamity.  The  sea  is  His  and  He  made 
it.  Human  life  is  His,  for  He  gave  it,  and  when  He 

19 


434 


god’s  way  in  the  sea. 


wills  can  recall  it,  and  under  what  circumstances  His 
sovereign  pleasure  may  direct.  His  mind  is  higher 
than  heaven,  and  deeper  than  the  deepest  depths  of 
his  watery  domains.  There  are  secret  things  which 
“  belong  to  the  Lord  our  God.”  His  way  is  in  the 
sea,  his  path  in  the  great  waters,  and  his  footsteps  are 
not  known.  Could  my  voice  reach  the  specially 
stricken  and  bereaved  I  would  speak  to  them  thus : 
“  Ye  hearts  that  are  wrung  with  anguish  because  of 
those  whom  the  sea  has  taken  from  you,  who  call 
upon  loved  ones  buried  there,  and  there  is  none  to 
answer,  will  ye  no  longer  trust  the  Lord  because 
clouds  and  darkness  are  around  Him — because  there 
is  mystery  about  His  ways  and  doings — because  He 
takes  from  you  treasures  which  the  fond  heart  hoped 
to  cling  to  long,  and  gives  no  account  to  you  of  His 
reasons  for  what  He  does  ?  Lather  trust  him  with 
the  stronger  trust  now,  for  herein  is  the  only  rest, 
comfort,  hope,  and  safety  that  the  stricken  soul  can 
find.  For  “  God  is  our  refuge  and  strength,  a  very 
present  help  in  trouble  ;  therefore  will  not  we  fear 
though  the  earth  be  removed,  and  though  the  moun¬ 
tains  be  carried  into  the  midst  of  the  sea.  Be  still  and 
know  that  I  am  God.  I  will  be  exalted  in  the  earth. 

r  ”  A 

The  Lord  of  hosts  is  with  us.  The  God  of  Jacob 
is  our  refuge.”  Other  refuge  than  this  have  we 


435 


god’s  way  in  the  sea. 

none,  in  our  most  terrible  days  of  darkness  and 
distress. 

Besides  this  great  lesson,  which  all  bleeding  hearts 
should  learn,  there  are  others  of  a  more  general  cha¬ 
racter,  springing  from  this  calamity,  at  several  of 
which  I  will  barely  glance. 

One  shall  be  taken  and  another  left.  Few  escaped 
from  the  death-dealing  surge,  wherein  all  were  in¬ 
volved,  and  struggling  almost  against  hope  with  a 
common  enemy.  The  brave  commander  lived ;  the 
son,  whom  he  would  have  rescued,  died.  The  hus¬ 
band  reached  his  home,  leaving  wife  and  child  buried 
in  the  sea.  Providence  makes  strange  discrimina¬ 
tions,  and  the  laws,  the  principles  on  which  they  are 
made,  who  of  mortals  can  explain?  The  faithless 
and  treacherous  even,  found  safety  in  their  selfish 
flight  from  duty ;  the  loyal  and  true-hearted  perished 
where  cowardice  deserted  them.  What  a  wondrous 
economy  is  God’s !  Yet  amid  seeming  chaos,  and 
the  evil  at  times  favored  more  than  the  good,  and 
distinctions  made,  and  events  occurring  which  seem 
to  confound  our  ideas  of  right  and  wrong,  the  wheels 
of  the  Divine  government  are  never  clogged ;  maj  es- 
tic  order  ever  reigns  ;  the  scales' of  justice  never  lose 
theh-  rightful  poise,  and  the  ways  of  God,  sometimes 
misunderstood  and  oftener  misinterpreted  by  men, 


436 


god’s  WAY  EST  THE  SEA. 


will  be  sublimely  vindicated  in  the  revelations  and 
retributions  of  a  coming  day. 

How  beautif  ul  is  devotion  to  truth  and  duty  every¬ 
where  !  How  spontaneously  does  the  heart  warm  to 
deeds  of  moral  heroism  !  What  but  a  divine  breath¬ 
ing  on  the  soul,  is  its  instinctive  sympathy  with  what 
is  most  noble  and  disinterested  in  human  sentiment 
and  action  ?  The  words  of  the  Arctic’s  commander, 
“  the  ship’s  fate  shall  be  my  own,  and  my  fate  shall 
be  my  son’s,”  are  worthy  to  be  graven  on  tables  of 
brass,  and  the  heroic  conduct  illustrating  the  words, 
raise  both  into  the  sublime.  Well  might  a  thrill  of 
joy  shoot  through  the  nation’s  heart,  at  the  tidings 
of  his  marvellous  escape  from  the  perils  of  the  sea, 
and  acclamations  bursting  from  thousands  of  voices 
greet  him  all  along  his  journey  home.  And  this 
wide-spread  utterance  of  joy  is  the  spontaneous  ex¬ 
pression  of  the  heart’s  approval  of  what  is  magnani¬ 
mous,  right,  and  true.  It  is  the  implied  utterance,  too, 
of  loathing  and  abhorrence  of  what  is  mean,  selfish, 
and  cowardly.  And  thus  the  very  plaudits  lavished 
on  the  commander,  point  the  most  withering  condem¬ 
nation  at  the  heads  of  the  deserting  crew.  And  from 
this  springs  one  of  the  grand  benefits  of  this  disaster. 
The  influence  of  such  feelings  can  neither  be  tran¬ 
sient  nor  confined  to  a  little  space.  It  lives  long  and 


437 


god’s  way  in  the  sea. 

works  beneficially,  far  and  wide.  A  single  noble 
example  like  this  in  the  nation’s  eye  may  transform 
each  sailor  into  a  hero  and  make  death  far  preferable 
to  life  saved  through  the  abandonment  of  principle, 
and  thus  bear  golden  fruits  for  the  general  weal. 

But  without  pursuing  such  a  train  of  remark,  I 
would  say  again,  that  human  sympathy  is  often 
stzmngely  inconsistent.  Hie  loss  of  life  by  this  disas¬ 
ter  has  struck  the  chords  of  every  heart  till  they 
vibrate  strongly,  and  with  eager  interest  spring¬ 
ing  from  intense  sensibility  is  each  fresh  incident 
connected  with  the  fatal  event  scanned  by  eyes 
often  gushing  as  they  read.  This  is  well,  for  sym¬ 
pathy  with  others’  sorrows  is  seemly.  But  who 
weeps  at  the  tidings  which  have  reached  us  within 
the  past  week  from  the  shores  of  the  Black  Sea? 
Bloody  battles — it  is  said — have  been  fought — 
Sevastopol  has  fallen — ships  have  been  burned  or 
sunk — war  has  wielded  its  horrible  enginery  of  des¬ 
truction-twenty  or  thirty  thousand  warriors  are 
reported  to  have  fallen  maimed  or  dead  upon  the 
drenched  soil,  sending  sorrow  and  desolation,  it  may 
be,  to  as  many  homes — and  yet  who  mourns  over 
such  carnage  and  ruin  as  this?  Perhaps  not  one — 
joy  rather  is  felt,  that  Russia  is  beaten  and  that  the 
W estem  Allies  are  victorious.  The  loss  of  the  Arctic, 


438 


god’s  way  in  the  sea. 

compared  with  the  siege  and  sacking  of  a  single 
populous  city,  or  the  frightful  slaughter  and  havoc 
of  one  great  battle,  where  glory  is  won,  is  but  as  an 
infant’s  gentle  death,  beside  the  sudden  engulphing 
in  the  waves  of  all  whom  the  Arctic  bore.  And  yet 
the  death  of  these  sends  consternation  and  grief  into 
every  home,  while  those  perish  on  their  gory  bed  and 
no  man  layeth  it  much  to  heart.  I  mark  the  fact 
without  pausing  to  explain  the  anomaly — barely  add¬ 
ing,  that  if  intense  sympathy  in  the  lesser  calamity  is 
comely  and  proper,  it  ought  at  least  to  be  felt  so 
strongly  in  respect  to  the  greater,  as  to  rouse  the 
nations  with  one  mind  to  frown  upon  and  forbid  fero¬ 
cious  war,  and  send  the  whole  church  in  wrestlings  to 
the  Throne  of  Mercy,  that  the  sword  may  be  turned 
into  the  ploughshare  for  ever. 

Religious  trust  in  God  through  Jesus  Christ ,  is 
calmness  and  safety  everywhere.  Such  trust  lifts  the 
soul  above  sudden  terrors  or  calamities — fits  man  to 
five,  suffer,  or  die,  as  the  Infinitely  Wise  may  appoint. 
And  he  who  is  ready  to  die  is  ready  for  every  emer¬ 
gency.  At  home  and  abroad,  on  the  shore  or  on  the 
sea,  if  the  summons  come  to  enter  the  spirit-world,  it 
is  equally  well  to  those  who  have  no  will  but  their 
Father’s  in  Heaven.  If  death  stare  them  in  the  face 
on  the  great  deep,  they  can  look  upon  him  without 


439 


god’s  WAY  IN  THE  SEA. 

blenching,  and  at  the  command  of  a  loving  Father, 
can  lie  down  as  calmly  to  their  last  sleep  among  the 
waves,  as  though  the  softest  conch  witnessed  their 
closing  struggle,  or  freshest  flowers  bloomed  over  the 
spot  containing  their  remains.  Be  ye  therefore  ready. 
I  hear  a  voice  from  Heaven  addressing  these  momen¬ 
tous  words  to  living  men — addressing  them  with 
emphasis  at  all  times,  in  view  of  every  danger  that 
besets  and  every  uncertainty  that  shrouds  man’s  mor¬ 
tal  hour — but  addressing  them  with  special  emphasis 
to  a  nation  in  tears,  in  view  of  that  distressing  calam¬ 
ity  which  in  a  moment  quenched  hope  and  joy  and 
life  in  a  watery  tomb.  I  hear  that  voice  address 
itself  to  each  of  you — adding  with  impressive  tone, 
lest  you  should  reject,  as  at  other  times,  the  counsel 
of  God  against  yourselves,  and  spurn  the  oft  repeated 
warning,  and  lapse,  through  the  world’s  freezing  con¬ 
tact,  into  former  insensibility :  “  Go  and  sin  no  more, 
lest  a  worst  thing  come  unto  you.” 


THE  LATE  REVEREND  DR.  BRODHEAD  AS  A 

PREACHER. 


When  a  minister  of  Christ,  whose  steadfast  and 
loyal  services,  for  long  and  wearisome  years,  the 
Master  has  signally  honored;  who  has  approved 
himself  a  man  greatly  expert  in  the  noblest  of  sci¬ 
ences — that  of  winning  sonls  ;  whose  power  to  touch 
and  melt  the  heart  with  the  publicly  spoken  mes¬ 
sage,  and  persuade  men,  “in  Christ’s  stead,  to  he 
reconciled  to  God,”  the  experience  of  numbers  has 
attested, — sinks  to  his  grave,  laden  though  it  be  with 
years  as  with  honors,  the  event  is  hardly  less  sadden¬ 
ing  than  full  of  interest.  The  pensive  feelings,  how¬ 
ever,  with  which  we  regard  it,  are  relieved,  and  even 
cheered  by  the  reflection,  that  the  weary  and  way- 
wrorn  is  now  at  rest,  sleeping  profoundly  at  the  close 
of  life’s  toilful  day,  without  liability  to  have  the  rest 
broken,  save  by  the  last  trumpet’s  call. 

The  memory  of  such  is  the  heritage  of  the  Church. 
The  savor  of  his  name  is  fresh  and  fragrant.  His 
memorial  needs  not  to  be  written  with  human  hands. 


THE  LATE  KEY.  DE.  BEODHEAD  AS  A  PEEACHEK.  441 


It  is  graven  on  tire  fleshly  tablets  of  the  hearts  of 
those  whom  his  life-long  assiduity  and  labors  guided 
to  the  cross,  and  of  those  to  whom  these  became, 
in  turn,  instrumental  in  determining  to  choose  “  that 
good  part”  which  the  docile  Mary  chose,  sitting  at  the 
feet  of  her  Lord.  And  thus  the  record  of  a  good  man’s 
character  and  achievements  requires  not  to  be  often 
brought  before  the  public  eye,  lest  it  should  pass  into 
oblivion ;  for  that  record  which  is  laid  up  in  the 
archives  of  many  Christian  hearts,  linked  together 
by  a  common  association,  is  most  likely  to  be  endur¬ 
ing.  Such  record,  nevertheless,  it  is  fitting  from 
time  to  time  to  present,  as  may  enable  men  to  derive 
from  an  eminently  useful  career,  the  full  benefit  it  is 
designed  and  adapted  to  yield. 

That  Dr.  Brodhead  was  one  of  the  most  popular 
preachers  of  his  times ;  that  his  popularity  was  not 
factitious  and  ephemeral,  and,  as  a  too  frequent  conse¬ 
quence,  empty  and  void,  but  was  composed  of  solid 
elements,  giving  it  genuine  vitality  and  power — and 
power  judged  by  the  truest  tests — it  would  be  captious 
to  deny.  It  is,  however,  no  disparagement  to  say 
that,  intellectually,  his  rank  would  have  been  no 
higher  than  that  of  numbers  of  his  order,  who  lead 
useful,  and  laborious,  and  devoted,  but  not  remark¬ 
able  lives.  Were  the  sermons  before  us  in  print, 

19* 


442  THE  LATE  REV.  DR.  BRODHEAD  AS  A  PREACHER. 

with  which  his  highest  effects  were  produced,  the 
leisurely  examination  of  them  might  disclose  little 
to  extort  onr  admiration  at  the  mental  scope  and 
resources  therein  revealed  ;  and  we  might  even 
wonder,  as  the  readers  of  Whitfield  have  wondered, 
at  the  disproportion  between  the  thing  written  and 
the  thing  spoken.  We  might  vainly  seek  to  find 
what  should  strongly  remind  us  of  the  suggestive 
thought,  the  keen  and  comprehensive  survey  of  a 
subject,  the  acute  and  subtle,  yet  sinewy  and  all-com¬ 
pelling  logic,  forging  its  massive  argument,  link  by 
link,  to  the  last  link  of  the  unbreakable  chain — such 
as  a  discourse  by  South  or  Barrow  presents.  Nor 
might  we  find  a  Jeremy  Taylor’s  affluence  of 
imagery  and  illustration,  joined  to  the  curious  learn¬ 
ing  poured  out  almost  as  lavishly  as  Montaigne’s,  and 
enriched  by  a  meteor-brilliancy  of  imagination ;  nor 
the  felicities  of  Tillotson’s  or  even  of  Scougal’s  style, 
nor  the  severe  elaboration  of  stately  sentences,  such 
as  Robert  Hall  furnishes  constant  examples  of, — the 
fitting  medium  for  his  massive  thoughts;  nor  the 
striking  appositeness  of  Scripture  quotation,  seeming¬ 
ly  natural,  almost  spontaneous,  yet  intensely  artistic, 
dovetailing  the  inspired  utterance  into  the  preacher’s 
thought,  which  forms  one  of  Blair’s,  and  still  more 
of  our  own  Mason’s,  most  noticeable  excellences ; 


THE  LATE  KEY.  DR.  BRODHEAD  AS  A  PREACHER.  443 


nor  should  we  find,  either  singly  or  in  combination, 
those  highest  qualities  which  give  to  a  written  dis¬ 
course  the  ring  of  the  finest  metal. 

In  these  respects  our  recently  departed  father 
would  bear  no  shining  comparison  with  many  of  his 
class,  many,  too,  whose  spoken  words  had  been  tame 
and  inert,  compared  with  the  effect  of  his  own.  And 
thus  we  see  that,  in  God’s  wise  arrangements,  the 
highest  intellectual  endowment,  and  the  greatest 
variety  of  furniture  and  accomplishment  adorning  it, 
are  far  from  being  the  conditions  of  the  most  fruitful 
and  successful  ministry ;  that  the  effective  power  of 
such  may  be  excelled  by  a  ministry  less  highly 
endowed,  the  arrows  launched  from  whose  bows, 
heaven-directed  and  impelled,  are  sent  unerringly 
to  the  hearts  of  the  King’s  enemies. 

Dr.  Brodhead  was,  emphatically,  a  preacher. 
This  was  his  distinctive  mission,  and  this,  he  knew 
well,  was  his  specific  province  and  work.  His  ex¬ 
cellent  sense  was  shown  in  the  resoluteness  with 
which  he  adhered  to  this  simple  path,  cultivating 
earnestly  the  gift  with  which  he  was  honored,  and 
resisting  every  seduction  to  enter  on  another  arena, 
where  he  might  lack  the  proper  weapons  or  strength 
to  insure  a  successful  issue  to  the  conflict.  He  chose 
the  sacred  desk  in  preference  to  the  professor’s  or  the 


444:  THE  LATE  REV.  DR.  BRODHEAD  AS  A  PREACHER. 

essayist’s  chair,  in  either  of  which  he  might  have 
attained,  it  has  been  said,  high  distinction.  We 
doubt  whether  he  would  have  signally  succeeded 
in  either  position,  for  high  distinction  in  neither  can 
be  compassed  without  a  class  of  qualities,  which  it 
does  not  appear  to  us  that  he  possessed,  in  such  a 
measure,  at  least,  as  to  give  him  a  decided  preemi¬ 
nence.  This  preeminence,  as  a  preacher,  he  attained. 
He  chose  the  very  field  to  which  his  tastes,  instincts, 
special  gifts,  and  zeal  for  the  cause  of  souls,  adapted 
and  inclined  him.  To  utter  the  gospel  message  to 
wayward,  blind,  and  rebel  men,  to  urge  that  mes¬ 
sage  home  to  the  conscience  and  heart,  making  the 
listless  anxiously  attentive,  and  the  hardened  confess 
the  two-edged  sword  of  truth,  and  the  morose  sceptic 
a  weeping  inquirer,  and  the  u  almost  persuaded  ” 
“  fully  persuaded,”  to  renounce  sin,  cleave  to  Christ, 
and  compass  his  pardoning  mercy — this  was  the  sphere 
within  which  his  powers  might,  and  did,  find  full  and 
auspicious  exercise.  This  high  post  he  filled  long, 
filled  honorably,  filled  with  signally  beneficent  re¬ 
sults  to  the  Church ;  filled  so,  we  have  no  doubt, 
that  when  the  Lord  writeth  up  his  jewels,  very  many, 
won  through  his  cogency,  to  seek  and  secure  the  king¬ 
dom  of  God,  will  rise  up  and  call  his  name  blessed. 
To  do  this  work  well  requires  remarkable  qualifica- 


THE  LATE  REV.  DR.  BRODHEAD  AS  A  PREACHER.  445 


tions,  the  more  prominent  of  which  may  now  he  briefly 
pointed  out. 

His  discourses,  if  not  displaying  the  higher  evi¬ 
dences  of  intellectual  power,  were  yet  well  written, 
betraying  care  and  earnest  study  in  their  prepar¬ 
ation.  And  as  he  preferred  to  read  his  discourses 
rather  than  give  them  from  memory,  or  trust  to  any 
of  the  ordinary  modes  of  extemporaneous  speaking, 
his  custom  was,  to  write  them  throughout.  The 
vigor  and  effect  of  his  preaching,  even  with  manu¬ 
script  before  him,  would  hardly  be  cited  by  those 
who  clamor  for  the  utter  disuse  of  notes  in  the  pulpit, 
as  an  illustration  of  the  certain  death  of  all  ani¬ 
mation,  proper  expression,  and  forcible  action,  said 
to  ensue  from  their  use.  The  language  which  he 
employed  was  the  language  in  which  people 
ordinarily  speak.  There  was  little  attempt  at  orna¬ 
ment,  and  no  seeming  wish  to  try  the  effect  or 
experiment  of  rhetorical  excursions.  The  diction 
was  natural  without  being  homely,  and  that  hearer 
must  have  been  stolid  indeed,  to  whom  the  preacher’s 
meaning  was  not  clear  as  a  sunbeam. 

In  this  its  great  strength  lay,  but  not  in  this  alone. 
The  sentiment  was  intensely  evangelical.  Both 
the  warp  and  woof  of  his  discourse  were  strongly 
colored  with  the  thoughts  of  inspiration.  And  no 


446  THE  LATE  REV.  DR.  BRODHEAD  AS  A  PREACHER. 

man  who  saturates  his  preaching  with  the  utter¬ 
ances,  judiciously  selected  and  used,  of  those  who 
u  spake  as  they  were  moved  by  the  Holy  Ghost,” 
can  fail  utterly  of  force  and  impressiveness,  unless 
he  have  glaring  and  stubborn  deficiencies,  to  over¬ 
bear  such  an  advantage.  Were  we  to  characterize 
the  materiel  of  Dr.  Brodhead’s  discourses  in  a  single 
sentence,  we  should  say  that  it  was  clear  in  arrange¬ 
ment  and  thought  as  in  language,  distinct  in  the 
development  of  its  scope,  richly  freighted  throughout 
with  the  fragrant  spices  and  precious  gems  of  the 
Holy  Book,  and,  in  its  application,  direct  and  pungent. 

Such  preaching  is  adapted  to  the  most  intellectual 
as  well  as  to  the  humblest.  Of  the  former,  it  is  well 
known  that  no  inconsiderable  number  were  to  be 
found  during  his  ministry,  amongst  his  regular  and 
most  interested  hearers.  Hor  is  the  fact  wonderful. 
The  lawyer,  whose  mind  is  often  taxed  for  six  days 
out  of  seven,  with  complicated  cases,  will  not  be  apt 
to  find  most  attraction  in  that  preaching,  which 
demands,  for  the  satisfactory  comprehension  of  it,  the 
same  severe  tension  of  the  faculties.  He  will  choose 
that  rather,  whose  argument  is  direct  and  clear ; 
whose  illustration  is  striking ;  and  especially  that 
which  impresses  him  most,  as  a  practical  man,  with 
what  the  preaching  of  Christ  is  designed  to  accom- 


THE  LATE  REV.  DR.  BRODIIEAD  AS  A  PREACHER.  447 


plisli.  This  was  Daniel  Webster’s  experience.  I4e 
wanted  the  preacher  to  make  him  feel  his  position 
as  a  sinner  before  God,  and  bring  home  to  him  the 
sense  of  personal  responsibility.  It  may  hence 
appear,  that  the  strongest  intellect,  instead  of  crav¬ 
ing  a  repast  of  abstruse  metaphysics,  or  impalpable 
logic,  or  finding  delight  in  glittering  figures  of 
speech,  or  venturesome  flights  of  fancy,  really  craves  at 
the  preacher’s  hands  a  widely  different  entertain¬ 
ment. 

The  effect  and  impressiveness  of  his  discourse  owed 
much  to  his  delivery.  We  shall  not  repeat  the  stale 
saying,  fathered  on  Demosthenes,  about  the  excessive 
proportion  that  delivery  in  a  discourse  bears  to  its 
other  components.  Viewing  the  matter  somewhat 
more  moderately,  it  is  at  once  conceded,  that  the 
proper  delivery  of  a  sermon  is  a  very  important 
element  indeed,  to  bring  it  home  to  the  understand¬ 
ing,  as  well  as  soul  of  an  audience.  This  element  of 
power  Dr.  Brodhead  possessed  in  an  eminent  de¬ 
gree.  There  may  have  been  those  among  our  minis¬ 
try,  who  could,  on  occasion,  declaim  with  greater 
vivacity  or  with  more  impressive  power,  but  we 
question  whether,  in  the  delivery  of  a  discourse  as  a 
whole,  and  from  week  to  week,  and  especially  from 
youth  “even  to  hoar  hairs,”  any  minister  of  his 


448  THE  LATE  EEV.  DR.  BRODHEAD  AS  A  PREACHER. 

denomination,  or  perhaps  of  his  times,  can  he  men¬ 
tioned  as  fairly  his  equal. 

For  this  he  had  remarkable  requisites.  His  voice 
was  one  of  singular  sweetness,  compass,  and  flexi¬ 
bility.  His  enunciation  was  distinctness  itself.  The 
effect  of  his  speech  was  heightened  by  his  personal 
appearance  and  manner.  He  possessed  the  advan¬ 
tage  which,  as  Gibbon  remarks  of  the  personal 
beauty  of  his  favorite  Mahomet,  few  persons  look 
upon  with  indifference,  save  those  to  whom  nature 
has  signally  denied  it — of  a  fine  presence  and  com¬ 
manding  stature.  His  action,  though  certainly  not 
acquired  by  practising  before  a  glass,  nor  squared 
by  the  most  approved  elocutionary  rules,  was  na¬ 
tural,  becoming,  and  expressive.  These  qualities 
alone  were  sufficient  to  command  close  attention 
to  his  utterances.  Particular  sentences  which, 
spoken  by  many  another,  had  been  regarded  as  some¬ 
times  tame,  sounded  grandly,  and  carried  signifi¬ 
cance  with  them,  when  pronounced  by  a  voice 
admirably  modulated,  and  removed  to  the  furthest 
verge  from  the  sing-song  monotony,  which  acts  as  a 
lullaby  upon  many  a  susceptible  sense.  It  was  im¬ 
posing  to  hear  him  read  portions  of  the  Scriptures, 
and  certain  of  his  favorite  hymns,  or  the  more  ex¬ 
pressive  formularies  of  our  Church,  and  especially  to 


THE  LATE  REV.  DR.  BRODHEAD  AS  A  PREACHER.  449 


hear  him,  with  hand  on  the  head  of  kneeling  expec¬ 
tant,  prononnce  over  him  the  solemn  words,  which 
set  him  apart  as  a  bishop  over  the  Lord’s  heritage. 
His  tones,  his  manner,  his  grave  and  dignified  aspect, 
invested  what  he  said  and  did  with  a  solemnity  and 
weight  which  few  could  hear  and  witness  unmoved. 

Dignity  in  the  pulpit  was  a  part  of  himself.  His 
sense  of  the  grandeur  of  his  high  office,  and  of  the 
responsibilities  it  imposed,  was  deep  and  constant. 
He  seemed  to  realize  himself  as  standing  full  in  the 
awful  presence  of  the  King  whose  ambassador  he 
was,  and  in  whose  name  he  was  announcing  to  men 
the  terrors  of  the  judgment,  and  the  mercy  of  the 
cross.  He  was  impatient  of  all  flippancy,  of  every¬ 
thing  that  looked  like  a  trivial  and  irreverent  treat¬ 
ment  of  sacred  things,  in  the  presentation  of  his 
theme.  He  spoke  as  though  necessity  were  laid  upon 
him  to  utter  with  the  greatest  solemnity  the  most 
intensely  solemn  and  momentous  message  that  can 
fall  on  human  ears.  He  shrank  appalled  from 
any  utterance  by  a  “  legate  of  the  skies,”  preach¬ 
ing  Christ  and  his  cross,  that  might  set  the  benches 
“in  a  roar.”  For  this  reason  among  others,  he 
looked  with  little  favor  upon  the  platform  of  the 
religious  anniversary.  We  have  heard  him  speak 
in  a  tone  bordering  on  indignant  contempt,  of 


450  THE  LATE  REV.  DR.  BRODHEAD  AS  A  PREACHER. 

occasional  exhibitions  witnessed  there,  as  not  only 
derogating  from  the  gravity  of  the  ministerial  office, 
presenting  the  incongruity  of  mingling  the  frivolous 
with  the  grave,  but  as  begetting  a  prurient  and  dis¬ 
eased  taste  in  matters  of  religion,  and  tending  to 
bring  the  ministry  itself  into  reproach.  And,  truth 
to  say,  it  were  not  easy  to  decide  why  the  absence  of 
the  very  gravity  which  is  insisted  on  as  inseparable 
from  the  staid  propriety  of  pulpit  ministration,  should 
become  on  the  platform,  not  only  no  indecorum,  but 
actually  one  of  the  cardinal  requisites  of  a  refreshing 
harangue.  Dr.  Brodhead  had  not  the  u  optics 
keen 55  enough  to  mark  the  distinction,  nor  the 
“  metaphysics  ”  to  remove  the  discordance,  and  make 
the  two  things  harmonious.  USTot  that  his  own 
gravity  had  anything  of  the  morose  or  intolerant 
about  it.  It  was  not  stern,  chilling,  repulsive.  It 
was  not  the  gravity  of  the  sanctimonious  bigot,  who 
thanked  God  that  he  was  not  as  other  men,  but  that 
which  resulted  naturally  from  the  profound  sense  he 
cherished  of  the  nature  of  the  office  he  was  com¬ 
missioned  to  hold,  and  the  work  he  was  called  to 
perform.  They  who  saw  and  heard  him,  felt  the 
sobering  influence  of  his  presence  and  speech  irresisti¬ 
bly,  and  acknowledged  that  the  place  was  holy  where 
they  worshipped. 


THE  LATE  REV.  DR.  BRODHEAD  AS  A  PREACHER.  451 


His  earnestness  in  preaching  was  very  marked. 
Nothing  about  his  manner  indicated  the  preacher 
present  merely  to  perform  a  task  in  which  his  heart 
was  not  enlisted — cold,  listless,  and  indifferent 
whether  men  should  heed  and  obey,  or  reject  and 
perish.  The  period  of  his  youthful  prime,  or  manly 
vigor,  within  which  his  fullest  energy  of  delivery 
and  intensity  of  expression  were  thrown  into  his  ser¬ 
mons,  was  passed  before  the  present  writer  knew 
him ;  yet  we  easily  comprehend  how  impressive,  and 
even  overwhelming  at  times,  he  must  have  been  in 
the  palmiest  days  of  his  popularity.  But  advancing 
years  never  disrobed  him  of  the  earnestness  with 
which  he  persuaded  the  wayward  to  return  to  the 
Good  Shepherd — nor  did  the  message  he  announced 
ever,  up  to  his  last  public  utterance  of  it,  lose  the 
irresistible  attraction  of  gushing  warm  from  a  heart 
kindled  with  love  to  the  Master,  and  throbbing  in 
sympathy  with  the  misery  of  those  ready  to  perish. 
Had  Angell  James  known  him,  he  would  have  given 
him  a  prominent  place  among  his  illustrations  of  an 
a  Earnest  Ministry  ” — a  ministry  alive  to  the  de¬ 
mands  of  the  great  cause,  prompt  to  preach  Christ 
and  him  only,  with  the  demonstration  of  the  Spirit 
and  with  power,  warning  every  man,  beseeching 
every  man,  even  with  tears,  so  as  to  be  able  to  pre- 


452  THE  LATE  REV.  DR.  BRODIIEAD  AS  A  PREACHER. 

sent  every  man  faultless  before  God,  with  exceeding 
joy,  in  the  grand  approaching  day. 

And  this  suggests  his  tenderness,  which  was  a 
strongly  characteristic  feature  of  his  preaching.  Not 
they  who  are  wont  to  exhibit  the  greatest  amount 
of  sensibility  have  absolutely  the  tenderest  hearts. 
The  lion-hearted  Ney,  marching  from  Moscow  at  the 
head  of  his  forlorn  hope,  through  driving,  piercing 
snows,  and  the  serried  ranks  of  an  implacable  foe, 
could  clasp  to  his  manly  breast,  and  carry  to  a  place 
of  safety  the  wailing  infant,  whom  a  mother  had 
thrice  thrown  from  her  to  perish,  that  she  might  be 
less  encumbered  in  her  struggles  to  escape  the  hor¬ 
rors  of  that  unparalleled  retreat.  The  mother,  in  her 
selfishness  and  despair,  could  forget  her  sucking 
child:  the  soldier,  stern,  cold,  and  impassive  to  ap¬ 
pearance,  evinced  more  than  a  woman’s  tenderness. 
Thus  the  outward  aspect  may  easily  mislead  and 
prompt  to  erroneous  judgment.  The  softest  and 
most  susceptible  nature  may  be  veiled  by  a  frigid 
and  reserved  exterior,  and  the  preacher  u  unused  to 
the  melting  mood  ”  may  be  voted  cold  and  unsympa¬ 
thetic,  while,  in  reality,  the  warmest  of  hearts  throbs 
in  his  bosom.  He,  on  the  other  hand,  whose  coun¬ 
tenance  and  manner  are  fitted  best  for  tender  ex¬ 
pression,  usually  receives  the  credit  of  being  the 


THE  LATE  KEY.  DR.  BRODHEAD  AS  A  PREACHER.  453 


possessor  of  the  kindliest  sympathies,  though  his 
warmth  and  depth  of  feeling  may  not  he  a  whit 
greater  than  those  of  other  men.  The  absence  of  the 
outward  manifestation  is  counted  as  an  absence  of 
the  thing  itself ;  while  the  faculty  to  express  keen 
sensibility,  which  is  often  as  purely  a  gift  of  nature, 
and  as  much  under  the  control  of  personal  volition 
as  a  fine  voice  with  its  modulations,  is  regarded  as 
decisive  evidence  that  the  heart  is  overflowing  with 
those  tender  emotions  which  give  a  nameless  grace 
to  the  preacher’s  character,  and  the  strongest  fasci¬ 
nation  to  his  words. 

We  make  the  remark  to  guard  against  a  fallacy. 
The  tenderness  of  our  departed  father  was  palpable, 
striking,  and  often  deeply  effective,  and  no  doubt  as 
deeply  genuine.  We  should  hesitate,  however,  to 
award  him  a  warmer  heart  and  broader  sympathies 
than  many  of  his  brethren  not  gifted  with  the  faculty 
of  imparting  to  tender  feeling  its  most  touching  out¬ 
ward  expression.  It  is  unfortunate  for  the  preacher 
where  this  lack  is  very  glaring;  for  the  heart,  with 
the  mass  of  hearers,  is  mightier  than  the  reason ;  but 
more  unfortunate  is  it,  where  the  preacher  having 
little  heart,  yet  aware  of  the  power  of  tenderness 
over  others,  assumes  a  snivelling  sensibility,  to  pro¬ 
duce,  if  he  can,  by  the  counterfeit,  the  natural  effect 


454  THE  LATE  EEV.  DE.  BEODHEAD  AS  A  PEEACHEE. 

of  the  true.  He  only  who  can  sweep  the  heart’s 
delicate  strings  with  the  hand  of  a  Master,  is  surest 
to  reach  and  overcome  its  passion-guarded  citadel. 

The  faculty  to  do  this  well  must  he  counted 
amongst  the  rare  felicities  of  endowment  which  con¬ 
spired  to  render  Dr.  Brodhead’s  words  so  telling  and 
effective.  It  was  a  part,  and  an  important  part,  of 
the  garniture  with  which  the  Master’s  prodigality 
clothed  and  equipped  him.  The  gift  was  used  with¬ 
out  boasting  and  vain-glory.  It  was  made  subservient 
to  the  Master’s  honor.  It  proclaimed  its  celestial 
origin.  It  unveiled  the  broken  spirit,  prostrate 
before  Him  from  whom  cometh  down  every  good 
and  perfect  gift,  and  a  heart  fired  with  zeal  for  the 
winning  of  souls,  and  pervaded  with  a  childlike  trust 
and  a  devoted  piety.  Its  exercise  dissolved  audiences 
in  sympathetic  tears.  It  arrested  the  feet  of  the 
way-worn  wanderer,  and  pointed  the  penitent’s 
streaming  eye  to  Him  whose  blood  alone  cleanses 
from  sin.  It  directed  hope  to  a  brighter  sphere,  and 
incited  the  resolves  to  renounce  the  world  and  follow 
Christ,  which  resulted  in  adding  many  rejoicing  sons 
and  daughters  to  the  multitude  of  the  sacramental 
host. 

Such — without  extending  remarks  already  drawn 
out  too  far — were  the  prominent  elements  of  Dr.  Brod- 


THE  LATE  KEY.  DR.  BRODHEAD  AS  A  PREACHER.  455 


head’s  popularity  and  success  as  a  preacher.  Judged 
by  the  one  grand  test — his  success  in  winning  souls, — ■ 
it  must  he  confessed  that  his  ministry  was  extraordi¬ 
narily  effective  and  important.  It  has  been  alleged, 
and  we  know  no  reason  for  denying  the  averment, 
that  God  has  honored  his  long  ministry,  by  bringing 
more  souls  into  the  Church  through  his  means  than 
through  that  of  any  other  in  the  annals  of  the 
denomination.  Such  a  fact  stamps  his  ministry  as 
one  of  the  most  powerful  that  our  Church  has  en¬ 
joyed.  He  must,  therefore,  rank  deservedly  high 
among  the  names  whose  memory  the  gratitude  of  the 
Church  has  embalmed.  For,  though  the  qualifi¬ 
cations,  not  less  than  the  increase,  come  from  God, 
we  associate  inseparably  the  messenger  with  the 
effects  of  his  message ;  the  workman,  with  the  work 
which,  through  him,  God  has  wrought. 

He  has  gone  down  at  last,  in  a  fruitful  old  age,  to 
the  grave,  where  is  no  more  work.  The  Master, 
whom  he  served  so  faithfully,  has  taken  him  to  his  rest. 
He  has  left,  in  his  good  name,  the  most  priceless  of 
legacies  to  his  children,  and,  in  his  works  and  cha¬ 
racter,  the  best  remembrance  and  stimulant  to  the 
Church.  We  sigh  as  we  think  that  we  shall  see  his 
face  and  hear  his  eloquent  voice  no  more.  But  we 
rejoice  that  so  long  a  life  has  been  illustrated  by  such 


456  THE  LATE  REV.  DR.  BRODHEAD  AS  A  PREACHER. 

signal  and  memorable  services.  Thongli  departed, 
he  will  not  be  absent ;  for  his  influence  and  example 
will  still  speak  potentially  to  the  Church ;  and  the 
voice  whose  accents  were  so  loved  by  the  many  yet 
remaining  on  earth,  will  still  utter  its  counsels  and 
appeals  from  the  grave,  belonging  henceforth  to 

“  Tongues  of  the  dead  not  lost, 

But  speaking  from  death’s  frost, 

Like  fiery  tongues  at  Pentecost— 

Glimmering  as  funeral  lamps 

Amid  the  chills  and  damps 

Of  the  vast  plain  where  Death  encamps.” 


THE  END. 


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